Bulwark
by Harriet Vane
Summary: Big Eddie uses Olivia to get Peter's attention. But, it's not money he wants.
1. Enemies Close

_**Author's Notes:**_

_For all those who miss Peter as much as I do, this story takes place during the glorious period between "Lysergic Acid Diethylamide" and "6:02 AM EST." _

_Standard disclaimer: I do not own the copyright, etc. _

_Special thanks to Frinja and My Beautiful Ending for the beta read. _

**Chapter 1 – Enemies close**

"I'm really not interested," Peter told his father as he looked at the brick-like brownies on the paper plate.

"Are you sure, Peter?" Walter asked, in a way that, Peter assumed, was meant to be enticing. "The box claims that they have a half a day's serving of fiber, which, I think, explains why there are not properly gooey."

"Oh, does that explain it?" Peter asked sarcastically.

"Well," Walter admitted with a chuckle, "At my age, you cannot have too much fiber, so I added a little of my own."

"Why do I get the feeling that you're not talking about a teaspoon of Metamucil," Peter said.

"No, actually, I . . ."

"Wait," Peter said, as his cell chirped, informing him that he had a text message from a very well-known number. "It's Olivia."

"Wonderful!" Walter said excitedly. "Perhaps she can come over and join us!"

"I don't think that's going to happen, Walter," Peter said slowly as he read the message. "She wants me to meet her."

"Oh, should I come too?"

"No," Peter replied, putting his phone back in his pocket. "You stay here and enjoy your brownies."

"Thank you, Peter," Walter said with a soft, gleeful chuckle, " I shall!"

~break~

It was unusual for Olivia to text Peter out of the blue and ask him to meet her somewhere – but it wasn't quite unexpected. Peter did such things all the time, when he found a great cover band playing at a local bar or a hole-in-the-wall Korean restaurant that served the hottest kimchi on the continent. He always texted her, asking her to meet him – the implicit promises that she would like what she found was always fulfilled. So, it was not inconceivable that Olivia would reciprocate in kind. It was not beyond belief that she had found the cafe with the perfect cup of Turkish Coffee. But it didn't feel right.

As Peter approached the address on his phone, a small nail salon in one of East Boston's less attractive strip malls, he was nigh certain that Olivia was not going to surprise him with a mani-pedi.

He'd texted her, asking for clarification and she'd responded "Come Now." She didn't answer her cell, and her work number just dumped him into voice mail – which wasn't surprising considering it was 2:30 on a Sunday afternoon.

Had anyone else texted him imploring him to come to this location, he would have turned around and gone home. But this was Olivia: she wouldn't try to be cute or play games, she wouldn't be vague unless she could not be clear, she wouldn't call desperately for help unless she needed it – and if she needed it, she would find a way to call.

Peter parked at the far end of the strip mall and walked slowly down the shaded pavement towards the salon. He passed a dollar store doing brisk business, a dry cleaners that seemed deserted, a child care center with non-licensed, not-quite-Disney Mickey and Minnie Mouse painted across the windows, and a mobile phone store that seemed to have a long line of frustrated customers.

He opened the salon door and was assaulted with the eye-watering smell of nail polish and polish remover. He noticed that all the pretty, young, Southeast Asian women working there were wearing surgical masks to keep them from inhaling too many of the toxic fumes. None of the clients were wearing the masks, however, and Peter could not help but wonder if that was a subtle form of class warfare.

But, this was not the time to guess at sociological games. He walked up to the counter, where a young woman in a mask was rapidly sorting through a pile of nearly-identical peach-colored nail polish bottles, dividing them into two groups and, occasionally, throwing one away.

"Excuse me," he said, loud enough that he was sure everyone in the small shop could hear him. "I'm looking for Olivia Dunham."

"She come here?" the woman asked, barely sparing him a glance before she returned to her sorting.

"She sent me a message," Peter said, lowering his voice. "She said she'd be here."

"She here?" The woman asked, this time actually turning from Peter to examine the women in the room.

"No," Peter said.

"Maybe she come soon," the woman told him, offering him a curt smile behind her mask.

Peter did not know what to do next. He could wait and see if she showed or he could assume it was a fluke and ask her about it on Monday morning. The later choice was certainly preferable, but if she was in real trouble, as his gut insisted she was, he didn't dare take the chance.

"Thanks," Peter said, scanning the room once more, looking for anything suspicious, anything that could give him any kind of clue, and finding nothing. "I think I'll wait outside."

The woman sorting nail polish returned to her task without offering him a response and no one said a word as he opened the door and walked back into the, comparatively, refreshing air of the parking lot.

His relief, such as it was, was short lived. As soon as he was out the door he saw someone he has been dreading for the past six years. A tall man in his early 50s, solidly built, with thick black hair slicked back to cover a growing bald spot. He was smoking a cigar and leaning on the hood of a large, red, luxury Ford F-150. Everything about him was conspicuous – Peter knew that was a bad, bad sign.

"I'll be damned," Big Eddie said with a laugh. "If it isn't Peter Bishop."

"Yeah, I bet you will be damned," Peter said coolly as he walked across the parking lot towards the petty gangster. "Where's Olivia?"

"At my sister's house," Eddie said, smiling in a way that made Peter's skin crawl. "Probably enjoying the best Cuccidati of her life. Why don't you come and join her?"

"Because I have no reason to trust you," Peter said, forcing all his fear and anger down and displaying nothing more than cool detachment. "I remember seeing that you were out on bail," Peter said. "But I thought you were under house arrest."

"I am," Eddie said. "I can't go more than a mile away from the house. If I tried to walk over to the dollar store to buy my old friend a Coke, there would be cops all over me like ants at a picnic. However, you come to my sister's and I'll offer you all the ice cold Coke you want."

"I want to know where Olivia is," Peter insisted.

"Come on," Big Eddie insisted, boxing Peter fraternally on the arm and smiling warmly through his threats. "Think of the worst thing that could possibly happen and ask yourself, wouldn't you rather be there to try and stop it?"

Peter swallowed, "When you put it like that . . ."

"That'a'boy," Eddie said, opening the passenger door to the truck.

With a deep breath, Peter pulled himself inside and did not flinch when Eddie slammed the door shut behind him. In another moment, Eddie was in the driver's seat and they were rolling out of the parking lot.

"So, Peter," the gangster said conversationally, "How you been?"

"I'm pretty sure you don't care," Peter said. "So you can drop the act."

"Oh, no, oh, no," Eddie said with a chuckle. "I'm not gonna do that just yet. We haven't seen each other for five years so, tell me, how you been?"

"Good, I guess," Peter said.

"Moved back home with your dad, I see," Eddie observed.

"It's more like he moved in with me," Peter said. "He needs someone to keep an eye on him."

"Weren't they doin' that at the loony bin?" Eddie asked. "I thought for sure your dad was locked up."

"Yeah, well," Peter said uncomfortably. "Turns out he wasn't so crazy after all."

"Reconnecting with family, that's good, that's good," Eddie said. "And a new job too, contracting with the feds."

"Yeah," Peter said curtly.

"Job that comes with a pretty girlfriend."

"It's not like that," Peter said, feeling angry at the aspersion on Olivia's character.

"Still, it's nice to have a girl on the side."

"I told you," Peter insisted. "It's not like that between me and her."

"Of course it's like that," Eddie replied. "You're a con, Peter. Always have been. Best con I've ever seen because you got the brains and you got the heart. But a con is a con and no one but no one gets close to a con."

"I'm not a con," Peter said. "Not anymore."

"You can't help it, Peter Bishop," Eddie scoffed. "Who you are is a lie, so it don't matter how honest you are about the particulars."

"What are you talking about?" Peter demanded. It almost sounded like this local gangster knew, somehow, that Peter was from the other universe and his life in this one was based on lies. But Peter could not figure how Big Eddie would learn the truth about that and, even if he had, how the thug could possibly understand it.

"Eh, I'm just makin' conversation," Eddie said nonchalantly. "And here we are."

Big Eddie had driven Peter away from the poorer part of the neighborhood, past Piers Park, to a block that could be the poster child for urban renewal. He stopped at a beautiful Gingerbread Victorian house that had recently been painted white with sky blue and candy-apple red accents.

"Nice place, eh?" Eddie said as he got out of the truck. "Used to be my uncles but when he had to sell . . ."

" . . . because he was indicted by a grand jury for money laundering and is currently spending 25 to life in federal prison." Peter supplied, glad that he could finally demonstrate that he was just as aware of Big Eddie's activities over the past five years as Eddie was of his.

"Ha," Eddie scoffed, good naturedly, "You do keep up with the news, don't ya? But, when he had to sell she bought it for a song and turned the place around. It was a real eye sore then. Now," he gestured at the house, indicating that its appearance spoke for itself, and his sister's abilities.

"Why are we here?" Peter asked, refusing to be impressed.

"You wanted to see your girlfriend," Eddie answered.

"Why is she here?"

"I'll let her tell you the story," Eddie said. "Come on in."

Tentatively, Peter walked up the large porch cluttered with bikes, young children's ridding toys, and wicker furniture. He followed Eddie through the door and into a dimly lit foyer, which was equally cluttered with coats, bags, shoes, and toys.

"Gennie!" Eddie yelled. "I'm back."

"We're in the dining room!" A woman's voice called back.

"This way," Eddie said nodding a pair of French doors at the end of the hall. Peter followed the gangster through the entirely normal hallway, lined with family pictures, wondering what could possibly be in the dining room.

The minuet he'd gotten the text, he'd felt something was wrong, and when he'd seen Eddie in the parking lot, he was sure things were very wrong indeed. He'd expected to find Olivia, bruised and beaten, in the trunk of a car, or surrounded by threatening tuffs in an abandoned warehouse by the Warf. He'd braced himself for that, for the courage and bravado that such a situation would call for – but now he found himself in a charming family home and did not know how to act.

"Look who I found," Eddie said as he opened the French doors, revealing a formal dining room, made somewhat less formal by the three ten-year-old boys each playing with their own Nintendo DS at one end of the table. At the other end sat two women with a plate of cookies between them and a coffee mug each. The first woman had long, thick black hair, large brown eyes, and a warm smile. Sitting next to her was a little girl coloring in a coloring book with big toddler-sized crayons. Across from them was Olivia.

"Oh my God, Peter!" she said, clearly delighted and flabbergasted at the site of him. "How did . . .?"

"Are you all right?" Peter demanded, pushing past Eddie, ignoring the boys, the girl and the friendly-looking women, and kneeling in front of her so he could look her in the eye. Very blood-shot eyes, Peter noticed. And the usually-cream-white skin of her face looked red and irritated. "Did they hurt you?"

The question didn't faze her, "No, I'm fine," she assured him with a smile. "It was just pepper spray. They got my jogging wallet and my phone, but nothing I can't replace."

"Well, Ed, now that you're here I'm gonna put Nora down for her nap," the older woman said.

"No!" the little girl protested as her mother took a purple crayon out of her little hands. "I wanna color more!"

"You already got to color twenty minutes past your nap time," the mother said, picking up the little girl, who was now screaming "Wanna color! Wanna color!", and quickly exiting the room. Peter was too preoccupied with finding Olivia to care that a suspect was escaping.

"But how on earth did you know I was here?" Olivia asked. "Did Broyles tell you?"

"Broyles knows you're here?" Peter asked. His relief at seeing her well was quickly being overshadowed by his confusion at the entire situation.

"Well, I had to call in to let the agency know my phone was compromised," Olivia said. "I don't know if it would have gotten to him yet or not . . . but Peter, how did you know?"

"Do you know who's house you're in?" Peter asked softly.

Olivia's delighted smile faded as she realized that Peter had not come through serendipitous, but rather through nefarious, means. "Gennie said it was her house," Olivia replied.

"It probably is," Peter admitted. "And her brother is Big Eddie."

Olivia glanced at the man who had brought Peter into the room. He was standing over one of the boys, watching the small game progress. It was probably a racing game, because Eddie was urging "Look, there! You can pass him on the left!"

"What happened?" Peter asked seriously.

"I was out running and got mugged," Olivia said, pulling her eyes away from Eddie and back to Peter's worried face. "A guy jumped out of the bushes with a can of pepper spray. He got me in the eyes before I could react, grabbed my jogging wallet with my phone in it, and ran off. Gennie and her kids came by a few seconds later. They helped me wash the spray of my face, called the cops and stayed by when he took my statement, and she invited me here to make whatever calls I needed. She's going to give me a ride home in a couple minutes."

"Why didn't you call me?" Peter said.

"It didn't seem necessary at the moment," Olivia admitted. "I thought I'd call you once I was home and we could actually talk. But, Peter, how did you know I was here?"

"Because whoever stole your phone texted me and told me to go to a nail salon a mile away. Then, when I got there, I found Big Eddie."

Olivia looked at him, and Peter could see that she'd realized what he'd known from the beginning. Big Eddie had kidnapped her and used her to lure Peter. Why he'd done so was unclear, but the fact was unavoidable.

"Ed," Gennie said as she came down the stairs. "Nora's down for the count. You good to watch her while I drop off the boys at soccer?"

"Of course," Eddie said.

"Boys, stop your playin'. Get your bags."

"We're almost done with this race, mom," one of the boys said.

"Well, when you are done with the race you're done. If we don't leave in five minutes we'll be late." Gennie turned to Olivia and Peter, who was still kneeling on the floor.

"Olivia, I'd be happy to drop you at your place, like I said. Or, are you . . ."

"Um, I think I'll be going home with Peter," Olivia said, forcing a smile. "Thank you so much for everything. The cookies were delicious."

"Oh, help yourself, and, ah, Peter was it?"

"Yes," Peter said, standing up.

"Would you like some coffee? I brewed a whole pot. Or we have Diet Coke and Sprite, or apple juice or milk if you'd like."

"Thank you," Peter said, trying not to be rude, but still unable to feel at all gracious towards the woman who had participated in Olivia's kidnapping. "But I'm fine."

"I'll take care of all that," Eddie said, rejoining the conversation now that the boys had finished their race and put away their DSs. "You don't want to be late for soccer."

"Thanks Ed," Gennie said dismissively as she dug through the large bag over her shoulder, eventually pulling out her keys. "Mind if I stop by the store on my way back?"

"'Course I don't mind. You take as long as you need."

"And, if Nora wakes up you can give her some apple juice and put on a DVD."

"And maybe some of these cookies."

"Oh God," Gennie said, rolling her eyes, "You spoil that girl."

"Moooooom," one of the boys said from the door.

"Ok, gotta go," Gennie said, turning quickly to Olivia and Peter. "So nice to meet you both. Hope I can see you again sometime in more pleasant circumstances."

Peter couldn't reciprocate that feeling, but Olivia managed to say, "Thank you for all your kindness."

A minute later, the mother and soccer-paying boys were gone, leaving Peter and Olivia alone in the house with a dangerous gangster and a sleeping toddler.


	2. A Faustian Bargain

"Well," Peter said coolly taking a seat at the table next to Olivia. "Are you going to give Olivia her phone back?"

"There is something called plausible deniability," Eddie said, sitting down across the table and helping himself to one of the cookies. "But I wouldn't worry too much about Miss Dunham's property. I'm sure the police will find it intact."

"I don't understand what's going on," Olivia protested. "Why the hassle? Obviously, you've done your research, you must know where Peter is and how to contact him, why create such an elaborate scenario?"

"Oh, there's lots of good reasons for that," Eddie said. "First off, Peter's outgrown me. He's got his government friends at his back and the profits of Massive Dynamic in his pockets. There's no way he'd take my calls unless I had something to entice him. And I've found a beautiful woman will entice most men."

"You can stop pretending to be a gentleman," Peter said. "You and I both know the truth."

"The truth is that your girlfriend was in trouble and my family helped her."

"Trouble you caused," Peter accused.

"That is an un-provable accusation," Big Eddie said confidently. "You have to deal with the fact that we have been nothing but kind and respectful to Miss Dunham. You, neither of you, have any cause to complain about how I've treated you. That's important."

"Why?" Peter asked. "What do you care if we think you're a greedy mob boss or a gregarious uncle, because that was the point of the scene with the kids and the offer to babysit, right, to prove that you're a family man?"

"How you think of me, Peter Bishop, is a matter of great importance to me at the moment. But before I go into the whys and the wherefores of all that, I'm going to offer to get Miss Dunham a cab."

"Excuse me?" Olivia asked.

"She's not leaving," Peter said solidly.

"You sure that's the best idea, Peter?" Eddie asked. "Remember what we talked about in the car."

"I've never conned Olivia," Peter said staring down the mobster with cold determination. "She knows me. You clearly don't."

"Really?" Eddie asked with an impressed chuckle. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Peter said.

"Does she know about a black bag filled with a gun, a ski mask, and scalpel?"

"How do you know about that?" Peter asked darkly.

"I know lots of things," Eddie answered, equally sinister.

"Peter?" Olivia asked, attempting to cut through the men's enmity with her clear voice. "What is he talking about?"

"The data chips, in my lab at Harvard," Peter said. "He's talking about when I collected them."

"Ah," Olivia said, leaning back in her chair. She'd almost forgotten about that lab, and its implications. Being possessed by William Bell and sent into a nightmarish version of her childhood had driven it from her mind.

"Collected data chips?" Eddie scoffed. "That's a nice way of saying that you murdered someone in cold blood."

"I deactivated a machine," Peter replied, not missing a beat. "A machine that acutely did murder someone, by the way."

"And you did it at night, in a mask, without telling anyone except, apparently, your girlfriend," Eddie countered. "Clearly, your actions indicate no moral ambiguity."

"None that I can see," Peter insisted calmly.

"Maybe I'm missing something," Olivia said. "But, Eddie, you don't seem at all surprised to hear Peter refer to those . . . people, for lack of a better term, as machines."

Eddie snickered and shook his head. "War between worlds, right?" He asked. "Enemy agents, spies, sleeper units. That's what they were, wasn't it?"

"How on earth . . ." Olivia started to ask.

"Not this earth," Eddie said. "The other one, that's how. I was made on the other one."

"Made?" Peter repeated. "Are you telling us you're a shape shifter too?"

"And we come to the reason I brought you here, to my sister's house," Eddie said. "Because you clearly have no trouble killing my kind. But, I hope, you have trouble with the idea of a three year-old girl waking up from her nap to find the slaughtered, mutilated body of her uncle in the dining room. Nora's a sweetie, isn't she Miss Dunham?" Eddie added, turning to Olivia. "Don't you think she ought to be spared that?"

"So why tell me at all?" Peter said. "I clearly had no idea what you were. You clearly knew I was deactivating every shape shifter I could find. Why are you making yourself a target?"

"Because I don't want to die," Eddie said. "If the Secretary of State has his way, over-there will destroy over-here and I'll stop being. Gennie will stop being. Kevin and Nora will stop being. I don't want that. And you will stop being too, Peter Bishop – which would be the worst thing of all. So, I thought, better to take a small, calculated risk and let you know what I know, then to play it safe and suddenly find the world fallin' apart around me."

"Why would the worst thing be if I stopped being?" Peter asked. "Didn't you threaten to stop my being on numerous occasions?"

"I didn't mean a word of it," Eddie said. "My mission in this world was to find you and make sure you stayed safe."

Peter laughed a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "You told me not five years ago that you would break my legs and my arms and throw me into the bay to drown if I didn't give you eight-thousand dollars.'

"And while I had that claim on you, no one else would touch you," Eddie said, sounding earnest and looking Peter in the eye. "Everyone, _everyone_ knew that Peter Bishop was mine and that, if they interfered with his ability to pay me, I would do worse to them."

"The way you put it, it's almost touching," Peter said, rolling his eyes.

"But if you are a soldier from the other side, how can we trust you?" Olivia pointed out. "I thought you were programmed to die before you gave up your secrets. How is it possible that you are switching sides?"

"And why didn't the Olivia Dunham from the other side know about you?" Peter added.

Eddie sighed, "I don't know what you mean by 'the Olivia Dunham from the other side' – but the reason anyone from the other side wouldn't know about me is because I went AWOL years ago. I was made to protect you, Peter, and when it became clear that you were just being fattened for the slaughter, it seemed obvious that I had to get you out of dodge – hence, the threats."

"You drove him to the middle of a war zone," Olivia said.

"Maybe I overplayed my hand, but I still think he has a better chance of survival there then he does here," Eddie said.

"Ok, so say I believe you," Peter said. "And you were sent over as some sort of body guard. Why? What was the point?"

"The point was for your family to know you were OK," Eddie said. "The point is obvious. How things progressed after that – less so."

"How did they progress?" Olivia asked. She sounded genuinely fascinated and, Peter had to admit, hearing a shape shifters story from his own mouth was a rare opportunity.

"I was the first one sent out," Eddie explained. "Back then, all the Secretary of State cared about was finding his son. When I got through, I latched on to the first person I could find . . ."

"Murder number one," Peter counted.

" . . . and found you with no trouble. I was programmed to take the identity of your pediatrician, Doctor Vernon."

"You mean, you murdered Doctor Vernon," Peter corrected.

"I saw you at least once a year, plus at the occasional social gathering. I saw that you'd been cured of hepea and that you were growing up healthy. But, after a couple of years, the soldiers started coming, and the word War started to be thrown around. I realized that you weren't being monitored by a loving father anymore, you were being watched the way a farmer watches his chickens, knowing full well that they'll be on the dinner table soon enough. He still wanted and needed you well in the present, but I heard about the machine and I knew that it could only be bad for you in the future.

"Once you were in your teens, you started seeing a regular doctor, your dad was going downhill fast and your mom was a wreck – so I didn't see them at parties anymore. Vernon couldn't keep an eye on you, so I became Tracy Forest."

"Oh my god," Peter said, exhaling sharply and looking away from Eddie, apparently to the abandoned chairs at the end of the table.

"Who was that?" Olivia asked.

"Peter's friend's mom," Eddie explained with a little chuckle. "You had a crush on me, didn't you Petie?"

"Stop that," Olivia said angrily. "We're at murder number three. What happened next?"

"Peter went off to college with Tracy's son Bert, so I could see him when we visited the campus. But it was obvious that Peter was not on the golden path to success – self-destructive behavior, a penchant for lying and scamming. When two mob thugs broke into the Forest house one night, looking to terrorize Tracy's husband, who was being all virtuous and not paying protection for his construction company, I saw my chance. I went underground."

"What do you mean, underground?" Olivia asked.

"Tracy Forest disappeared second semester of my freshman year," Peter said. "Bert and his dad were sure it was the mob – but no one could ever prove anything."

"Murder number four," Olivia said soberly. "Was that when you became Edward Giordano?"

"Nah, I had to find my way into a comfortable position . . ."

"How many people did you kill to do that?" Peter asked with thinly veiled fury.

"Only the original Eddie," the shape-shifter said. "About that time, I went AWOL. Soldiers were comin' over, the war was on. I could see clearly that the end game for the Secretary of State included your death. I stopped reporting in and I don't know if they think I just stopped functioning, or got killed, or what, but they stopped looking for me. What didn't stop, though, was me performing my mission. I always was, and still am, doing what I was programmed to do."

"By making him run from you as fast and as far as he could?" Olivia asked.

"You have to remember, I'm looking after Peter. A young man who, for various understandable reasons, kept no ties to nobody. If I was going to stay in your life, I needed a damn good reason to be there. Childhood friendship wouldn't cut it. Hell, family ties wouldn't even cut it. But you being afraid of me – it gave you a reason to know what I was up to. And knowledge, it doesn't just go one way. If you were keepin' an eye on me, it meant I could keep an eye on you."

"But the question remains," Olivia said, using her unique ability to see the big picture, all the details, and the details that should have been there, but were missing. "Why are you telling us now? The war between the universes has been building for years, why chose to divulge what you know now? A man like you – you must want something."

"It's the trial, isn't it?" Peter asked.

"Trial?" Olivia said, turning to Peter quizzically.

"He's being tried in federal court for racketeering under the RICO Act," Peter told her with an almost-smug tone in his voice. He was too rattled by Big Eddie's confession to feel smug, but the thought of the gangster behind bars did give him pleasure.

"Miss Dunham, I assure you the case against me is inflated," Eddie said, turning to Olivia.

"We're not involved in that investigation," Olivia said flatly. "That's organized crime – we have nothing to do with them."

"Oh, I know," Eddie said. "But here's how I see things: I have information about the other side – all kinds of information. I can probably answer questions that you haven't even thought to ask. I can help you. But, I can't do it from here and I can't do it if I'm in jail."

"Are you trying to cut a deal?" Peter asked incredulously.

"I'm letting you know what I know," Eddie said. "How you chose to use that information is up to you – how you choose to use your influence with your colleagues . . . well, let's just say it can't hurt, can it?"

BREAK

Peter was mostly silent during the mile-long walk back to the car. Olivia walked next to him, glancing up at his stoic face every now and then, wondering what he was thinking about. When they closed the doors on the black SUV and started driving out of the run-down neighborhood, she felt that it was the right time to talk.

"So?" she asked.

"Yeah," Peter sighed.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know," Peter said. "I guess I should take you home."

"Ok," Olivia nodded. "Do you want to come up?"

"Sure," he said distractedly.

There was another long pause.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

For a long time, he didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the road in front of him, as if the kids jaywalking two blocks ahead demanded his full concentration. Finally, he told her. "You know, I was really happy when I thought they were all dead."

"It was kind of a relief," Olivia admitted. "At least we know he's not going to be reporting back to them."

"What if he has another way to communicate?" Peter pointed out. "Something older? More portable?"

"He's under house arrest," Olivia said, carefully reviewing in her mind what she knew of prisoners' rights. "I think the burden of proof to get a warrant to search the home would be pretty low."

"If only we knew what we were looking for," Peter said. "The typewriter with the mirror wouldn't have raised any red flags if it had been in someone's attic instead of a locked room guarded by a nervous and suspicious shop owner who happened to have other incriminating evidence sitting on his counter."

"Maybe we should pull some strings and see that he's put in custody," Olivia suggested. "Then we could know he's not sending them messages."

"Or stealing the identity of his sister or her children," Peter added.

"I don't think he'd do that," Olivia said. "He seemed genuine when he said he didn't want them to die."

"He seemed genuine six years ago when he threatened to kill me," Peter said. "We can't trust him."

"We're going to have to tell Broyles," Olivia said. "We can't allow him to disappear into the prison population."

"Organized crime will never believe us."

"That's Broyles's problem," Olivia said.

"I should just kill him tonight," Peter muttered.

"No," Olivia responded with a ferocity that surprised Peter.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Besides the questionable morality and legality of assassinating the shape-shifters in cold blood, I just don't think we can we afford to ignore the information he's offered us," Olivia said. "You said yourself that you weren't making progress sorting through the data on the disks you retrieved. If he could give us something as simple as key words to look for or a filing structure to exploit, it could make a world of difference."

"Maybe," Peter admitted hesitantly. "But trusting Big Eddie is kind of like trusting a shark. You're probably fine as long as you're healthy – but the second you get a scratch, he attacks and you're dead. And, sometimes, you're dead anyways. It's a bad idea. It can't end well."

"You think it's a Faustian bargain?" Olivia asked.

"Worse than," Peter said. "Faust at least got what he wanted. We might get nothing but trouble."

"Or we might get the world," Olivia said.

"I can't believe you want to do this," he said with a note of disbelief in his voice.

"I just can't see how any risk is too big," Olivia said. "Even if the worst happened, and he kills someone and escapes, if the information he gave us saves six billion people . . ."

"A Faustian bargain if I ever heard one," Peter said. "Have you even considered the implications of what happened today? Ignoring the fact that he murdered and impersonated two people I trusted when I was a kid—which, I have to say, is kind of hard for me to ignore—he planned an assault on you, and he arranged for his sister to be there to help. Think about what that says about how he views his family. But, more importantly, think about what it says about how he views you. He knew you were my girlfriend, which means he's been watching us. He had a pretty good idea of the route you would run – which means he's been watching you. Doesn't that make your skin crawl?"

"Well, yeah," Olivia admitted. "But, with all that we've been through, I'm kind of used to that sensation."

"That doesn't mean you should ignore it."

"Peter," Olivia said, suddenly realizing what was really going on. "Are you trying to protect me?"

"You know," Peter continued, not quite answering the question. "I haven't gone to a Red Sox game since I came back to Boston on the off chance a bookie would recognize me and tell him where I was. Even though he was under house arrest, I had this sick feeling whenever I thought about him – I kept waiting for the hammer to drop."

"Well, I think it just did," Olivia pointed out.

"Yeah," Peter muttered. "It turns out he was far more dangerous than I thought."

Olivia didn't answer right away, instead she looked at his firmly set jaw and preternaturally focused expression. She'd seen him look that way before, when he sent his father back into St. Clair's asylum. She realized that he knew they had to deal with Eddie on the off chance that they could possibly learn what he knew – but he also knew that more harm than good was likely to come from it.

"Peter," Olivia started, gently touching his shoulder. She knew she would not be able to assuage his fears, but she felt she needed to acknowledge them.

"You said you can't see how any risk is too big," Peter said, keeping his eyes on the road and his voice even and hard. "But I can. Without Big Eddie's help, I think we could still save our world – maybe theirs too. But without you, we don't have a chance."

"The machine is for you, Peter, not me," Olivia reminded him gently.

"Without you in the world, I'm not sure what would be worth saving," Peter admitted. "If it tunes to me, and I'm hopeless, what hope does the world have?"

Olivia blushed and turned to look out the window. Peter's honest confession that she, quite literally, meant more than the world to him, made her self-conscious and desirous of changing the subject. Opportunity presented itself in that they'd been driving around her neighborhood and already passed several good parking spots as the conversation absorbed their full attention. "Look, you could park there, behind the red minivan."

"Yeah," Peter said, accepting her change of subject without protest.

He pulled into the spot smoothly. They got out of the car and started walking towards her apartment, which was about two blocks away. They didn't say a word to each other, about Eddie or anything else, but Olivia could feel Peter was walking very close to her, closer than usual. And even though she knew she did not need whatever protection he could offer her, she loved him all the more for providing it.


	3. Big, Big Promises

"So," Broyles said, looking at skeptical as Peter felt. "You want me to contact my colleagues at organized crime and arrange to have Edward Giordano, A.K.A. Big Eddie, sent to Walter's lab at Harvard to review the information we've gathered about the other side."

"I'm not sure I'd say we want to do that," Peter said.

"It could be profitable," Olivia said. "And it could be dangerous. We have every reason not to trust him – but if he is willing to help us understand what's going on, I don't know that we can afford to drop the lead."

"Under what pretense should I request his assistance?" Broyles asked. He, like Olivia, was desperate for any help they could get. Unlike Peter, he didn't see how tremendously taking that risk could backfire. "He is being held under house arrest awaiting trial – a trial that, as I understand it, is a slam dunk for the organized crime unit. They're going to need a very convincing reason to share their prize."

"National security's always a good catch-all," Peter said. "After all, if the world ends, it's not like we'll have a nation to worry about."

"We know for a fact that he was involved in a terrorist organization which the Fringe division has been investigating for the past two years," Olivia said. "We're not asking them to drop their case or put him into witness protection – we just want him to come to Harvard and review some of our data, see what he makes of it. They can have their agents there if they want."

"They won't," Broyles growled. "Carthwright is the most frugal department chair in the division. He'll demand we pay for security."

"Is that a problem?" Peter asked.

"No," Broyles said, annoyed. "I just hate his payroll politics."

Peter and Olivia left Boyle's office with a certainty that Big Eddie would be going to Harvard, and, for Peter at least, a dread of all that entailed.

BREAK

Although his mind was mostly on the serious nature of the situation, Peter could not ignore that Olivia looked sexy in the briefing. The other people in the briefing were all men dressed in dark clothes – black suits for the pair of agents from organized crime, an ugly blue uniform for the liaison from Boston P.D., who was responsible for keeping Big Eddie under house arrest, and an even uglier brown uniform for the head of Campus Security at Harvard, who was none too happy about having a felon brought into his hallowed halls. Olivia, by contrast, was wearing a light gray suit. She'd taken her jacket off, revealing a simple and flattering white blouse and gracious curves of her behind. Her long blond hair was loose, and it flowed over her shoulders as she looked down at the map on the table in front of them. She was so beautiful, and she was in command, describing their requirements, expecting everyone else at the table to find a way to get her what she needed. It took a good portion of Peter's willpower to focus on the options being discusses and not dwell on what he hoped would happen that night.

"I think subtlety would be our best defense," Olivia said. "If a squad car could drop him off here," she said, point to the rear entrance to the Kresge Building, "We could escort him to here," she pointed to the small room on the first floor that Peter had taken over as his own lab. "Agent Farnsworth and myself will be present throughout the interview, so I think we'd only need one agent standing guard."

"I don't like that idea," the head of Campus Security, Dan Bugstrum, said. "Students are in and out of that building all the time, most often using the rear entrance because it's more convenient. If we used the front entrance, there would be less foot traffic."

"The front entrance is on a main road," Agent Steven Grant of organized crime pointed out. "He would be far more exposed. And, there's a much longer walk from the car to door. Giordano is a level-three flight risk.'

"But he'd be cuffed, led by two armed officers," Lieutenant Joseph Collins from the BPD pointed out. "We've dealt with Big Eddie a long time, he's not stupid. He'd only take the risk if he knew he could escape."

"And, exposed like this, he's got a decent chance of making that happen," Grant countered.

"So maybe we focus less on security and more on predictability," Olivia said. "What if we don't communicate these plans to Giordano? The BPD picks him up at night, around 10 p.m. – the students are mostly gone by then."

"What about a Saturday night," The other agent from organized crime, Greg Kholler said. "I bet the place is deserted."

"It usually is," Bugstrum said. "There are some students there during the day on the weekends, but they're pretty much gone by then."

"Ok, a Saturday night," Olivia continued. "If we don't tell Giordano or his sister where he's going . . ."

"She'll throw a fit," Lt. Collins grumbled. Apparently, he'd dealt with Gennie Giordano-Martin as well.

"It doesn't matter," Olivia insisted. "He's wanted for questioning in relation to an ongoing federal investigation. Where and for how long do not need to be communicated to her. If he were in prison awaiting his trial, she wouldn't be consulted."

"Since this is all federal," Collins said, "Maybe we should just bow out. You could transport him just as well in one of your unmarked cars – maybe better."

"I like that too," Kholler said. "Keep it simple. "

"Will one of you be performing the transfer?" Olivia asked her fellow agent.

"We'll be there," Grant said. "We don't want to risk our prize."

"So," Kholler said. "We pick him up at 2200 this Saturday night, drive him to the Kresge Building, and provide an armed guard while he looks at your data, or whatever it is you need him to do."

"Affirmative," Olivia said crisply. "But this Saturday only leaves us four days for coordination. Can we get the arrangements made in time?"

"If we're talking national security, the sooner the better, right?" Kholler said. He seemed annoyed that Olivia was hesitating in the face of action.

"Damn it, that's Chloe's harp recital," Grant said as an aside to his partner. "Martha'd kill me if I missed it."

There was a soft round of snickering, which ended when Kholler replied, "I'll take point on this. Hell of a lot better than Saturday night TV."

"From our perspective, one Saturday is like another," Bugstrum said. "Our weekend watchman is scheduled to be on, and no matter what day you chose, I plan to show up."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Olivia countered. "We don't want to raise any red flags."

"I stop by all our crews every now and then," Bugstrum assured her. "Haven't checked in on LeRoy for a while . . . no one will think anything's out of the ordinary."

"I can arrange for extra patrols in that area this Saturday night," Lt. Collins said. "But the guys are going to wonder why."

"That suspicion might be a risk we have to take," Olivia said.

"What if you told them you received a tip that someone was going to vandalize the building," Peter suggested. It was the first time he'd spoken at the meeting and everyone, especially the agents' form organized crime, seemed surprised that he, a lowly contractor, had a suggestion.

"That'd work," Collins said with a nod. "The way college kids are, we're always getting tips about petty crime—mostly co-eds tattling on the frat-boy who broke their heart."

"At least you only get the tips," Bugstrum commiserated. "When the kids go over the edge and start with this e-bullying it gets real dirty real fast. Makes me long for the days when we'd have to track down poison-pens."

"What's a poison pen?" Agent Kholler asked.

"Person who writes nasty letters," Bugstrum answered. "Profile is white female, wealthy, usually a sophomore."

"That's very interesting," Olivia interjected. "But we all have a lot of work to do in just a few days, so I want to make sure we're clear on the plan."

The plan was reviewed once more, to ensure everyone knew their part, before Olivia dismissed the meeting. When it was done, she personally escorted Bugstrum and Collins to the entrance. She and Peter had arranged to meet back at her desk, where she would check her messages before they went out to lunch – though Peter hoped that he'd be able to convince Olivia to grab a quick sandwich at one of their homes and spend their free hour in more pleasurable pursuits than waiting for a table and deciding between a soup or salad.

As they left the room, Agent Kholler said he had to make a call and peeled off to the right, while Peter and Grant turned to the left and started walking to the elevator.

"Peter Bishop, right?" Grant asked, looking at him shrewdly.

"Agent Grant," Peter replied.

"Dunham said you were a contractor analyzing data pertinent to national security."

"Yes."

"She didn't say that you're an old associate of Big Eddie's."

Peter started to feel uncomfortable, but he didn't show it. "The word 'associate' implies cooperation. I was more a 'mark'."

"Six years ago, wasn't it?" Grant continued, ignoring Peter's clarification. "You helped him scam three casinos in Atlantic City. And didn't you rig that big underground poker tournament?"

"First of all, counting cards is not a scam," Peter said. "It's memory and math. If I'm better than most people at those two basic skills, I don't see why I should be punished for it. And, if you can figure out how to rig a poker tournament, where a large variable in every game is the personality of the players, then I'd be impressed."

"If I could figure out how you did it, you'd be in jail right now."

"Federal officers don't have jurisdiction over gambling violations," Peter reminded the agent. "It's a state issue."

Grant chuckled. "You think you're a damned genius, don't you?"

"I know I am." Peter said simply. "Not that it's worth much of anything."

"No, it's not," Grant said. "I recognized your name on the briefing invite and I looked up your employment history with the agency. Your dad is the real consultant, isn't he, and you're just his assistant. Do you bring anything to the table?"

"Agent Dunham can tell you what I bring to the table," Peter said cagily.

Grant snickered. "Please. I saw you two talking in the hall. I saw the way you looked at her in the briefing. You two are . . . ah . . . indiscreetly intimate."

"Then you can ask Agent Broyles or Agent Farnsworth about my contributions," Peter said, trying not to sound angry and defensive, but failing. "I hope you don't think I'm indiscreetly intimate with all of them."

The elevator chimed and the doors slowly opened. Grant leaned in and spoke softly, clearly intent on getting the last word. "If this thing goes south, I'll know who to blame."

The agent walked into the empty elevator and held it, as if he expected Peter to share the ride. "Going up?"

"I'll take the stairs," Peter replied darkly.

Grant moved his hand and the elevator door slid closed.

BREAK

At 10 p.m. on Saturday night, with Lt. Collins of the BPD standing next to her, Olivia rang the Giordano's doorbell. The lights were on in the house, and from the unmarked cars in the street, the agents had been able to see that there were people in the living room watching a movie. From their position on the porch, Olivia could tell that a man she didn't know, probably Gennie's husband Ben Martin, had been charged with answering the door.

"Can I help you?" He asked gruffly through the sliver of an opening.

"Olivia Dunham, FBI," Olivia said holding up her badge so the man could see it. "I'm going to need to take Eddie in for some questioning."

"Right now?" the man asked.

"I'm afraid so," Olivia said.

"The Police have a tag on him," the brother-in-law said. "They're not gonna let you just take him."

"Lt. Collins from the BPD is here," Olivia said, gesturing to her side, even though the angle of the door prohibited the man from seeing the officer. "He's going to deactivate Eddie's anklet so we can take him in."

"Oh," the man said. He sounded disappointed. It was obvious that he did not want to give his brother-in-law up, but it was also obvious that he did not want to be on the wrong side of the law. "So, you guys need to come in, or something?"

"Or you could send him out," Olivia said.

"Umm, come in, then, I guess." The man opened the door and Olivia reentered the cluttered hallway. "Ahh, Ed, Gennie, there's, um, there's people here."

"People?" Gennie asked, turning away from the movie and looking over the back of the couch through the entry archway at them. "Olivia, what are you doin' here?"

"Hi Gennie," Olivia said warmly. "We need to talk to Eddie about a few things regarding an investigation I'm involved with."

"On Saturday night?" Gennie asked, bewildered, as she and the being she thought was her brother got up from the couch and walked into the hallway.

"Gennie, I told you I thought this would happen," Eddie said. "It's good. Show's I'm a law abiding citizen – willing to help my country in any way I can."

Lt. Collins cleared his throat, which Olivia assumed was an effort to suppress a laugh at Eddie's bold-faced lie. "Hold out your hands," He said crisply. Eddie complied, and Collins slapped on a pair of cuffs.

"If I'm not back in the morning, you give Nora a kiss from her uncle Ed, and tell Kevin I'll be thinkin' about him during his tournament."

"Now let me look at your anklet," the police officer said, kneeling so that he could free the gangster from the tracker that would let every cop in the city know he was away from home.

"Surely they won't keep you all night?" Gennie asked Eddie, then, turning on Olivia, added angrily. "It's sleep deprivation! That's against the Geneva Convention. I don't know what you hope to get out of him, but I know lots of good lawyers and if you try to use any of those 'advanced' techniques on my brother . . ."

"Gennie, I promise you, we will not hurt your brother," Olivia said, looking into the woman's eyes. "We just want to ask him a few questions about some evidence we've collected. We can't bring the evidence here, so we have to take Eddie to the evidence."

"In the middle of the night?" Gennie demanded, tears were forming in her eyes. "While his nephew and niece, who adore him, by the way, sleep upstairs."

"I realize this might be inconvenient for your family," Olivia said, forcing herself to stay steely despite the other woman's emotional distress. "And I apologize, but Eddie's safety is one of the concerns driving this operation's timeframe. I can promise you he will not be harmed while in our custody."

"That's a big promise, comin' from Miss Dunham," Eddie said as Collins finally unhooked the tracking anklet from his ankle. "I've known people – comrades in arms, I'd call them – who got no such promise."

"I protect everyone in my custody," Olivia told Eddie seriously. "No exceptions. As long as you are with me, you are safe."

"Big, big promises," Eddie said before turning to Collins. "Officer, mind if I give my sister a kiss goodbye?"

Collins did not answer, but did step aside so Gennie could approach her brother.

"See you later, kid," Eddie said, kissing his sister on both cheeks. While there was nothing terribly unusual about this gesture given the circumstances, Gennie seemed to think it bespoke of something more upsetting than a few hours of questioning. As she stepped away from him, she was clearly crying.

"Be good," she told him as Olivia and Lt. Collins lead Big Eddie down the stairs and into the waiting unmarked car.

"Ah, Agent Kholler," Eddie said gregariously as Lt. Collins helped him into the back seat and Olivia took her place at the front. "A pleasure as always. Will Agent Grant be joining us?"

"No such luck," Kholler said as he started the car. "Just us tonight."

"Good," Eddie said with a large smile. "I like Agent Dunham better anyways."

"I'll follow you," Collins told Olivia and Kholler once he'd helped Eddie buckle his seat belt. "When I see you've got him in the building, I'll pull away and patrol the area."

"Sounds good," Olivia said. "You have our number if anything goes wrong."

Collins smiled encouragingly as he closed Olivia's door for her, "I'm sure I won't need to use it."


	4. Liable to Run Off

"I thought we would be going to the lab," Astrid said as she followed Peter through the sterile halls of the Kresge Building.

"We're going to my lab," Peter told her.

"Your lab?" Astrid asked with arched eyebrows.

"Yeah," Peter explained, feeling a little sheepish about having kept the labs existence from Astrid, who really should have known. It occurred to Peter that he had not told Broyles about this room yet either, and he wondered if that was going to have uncomfortable implications.

"Walter's lab isn't big enough?" Astrid asked.

"Walter has a habit of spilling blue slushy on projects he doesn't approve of."

"Ah," Astrid said with understanding.

"I asked Dean Whinthrop if I could have an out-of-the-way place to do a little research and testing of my own. And you know how accommodating he is."

"Peter's lab," Astrid said warmly. "It has a nice ring to it."

"I don't know how we're going to fit four people in there, though," Peter said. "It's not a big space."

"Well, I'm not a big person," Astrid commented.

"I guess that'll make up for Big Eddie," Peter replied.

"Is it true that he legally changed his name to Big Eddie?" Astrid asked.

"No, I think that's just a rumor," Peter said. "His file didn't say anything about a legal name change."

"Is it true that you owe him half a million dollars?" Astrid asked.

Peter sighed, "A lot of that was interest."

"That's terrible," Astrid said, as if the immoral part of the situation was the exorbitant interest on the gangster's debt, not the activity that put Peter in his debt in the first place.

Thankfully for Peter, he did not have to expound any further on his youthful folly. Their conversation was interrupted by someone yelling "Hey, Astrid,"

"Oh no," Astrid said, glancing at Peter with an almost-fearful expression in her big brown eyes that made her look more like a teenager in a melodrama than a competent agent in the FBI. "It's LeRoy. Can we walk faster?"

Without waiting for Peter to agree, Astrid tripled her pace, even though she did not know where she was going. Peter had to jog a few steps just to catch up.

"You don't like LeRoy?" Peter asked, surprised. He had a slight acquaintance with the weekend night security guard – as he had with all the blue-collar workers in the Kresge Building. "He's a nice guy."

"He's got a crush on me," Astrid said in a hushed voice. "Every time he sees me, he tries to ask me out. And he won't take a hint."

Peter felt a pang of empathy for poor LeRoy. Astrid was, after all, young, beautiful, and brilliant. He was probably ten years her senior, smelled funny, had bad teeth, and seemed incapable of talking about anything other than Boston-area sports teams. He didn't have a chance.

"Astrid," Peter said, as she walked quickly past a small set of stairs on the right. "It's up here."

"Oh, great," Astrid said, quickly turning and bolting up the stairs, out of the hallway where LeRoy might come looking for her.

She followed him up the quarter-flight of stairs and down a dimly lit hallway. "Do they have classrooms back here?

"A few," Peter said. "I think it's mostly labs for graduate classes. Every now and then there will be a swarm of students, but it's usually deserted."

He led her to a small door, unlocked it, and opened it to reveal a tiny room, made even smaller by an abundance of equipment. The walls were covered with copies of the Machine's blueprints, as well as a few pictures of observers, and a complete diagram of the shape-shifting box. There were three lab tables: one against the far wall, one against the right wall, and one in the middle of the room. The tables against the walls were littered with tools barrowed from Walter's lab, yet more schematics and technical drawings, and an assortment of Starbucks cups. The table in the middle was the one that caught Astrid's attention, however. There was a black mesh stand holding up five silver disks, each of which was connected by a black cable to a large desktop computer.

"Are those what I think they are?" Astrid asked, stepping into the room, her eyes fixed on the disks.

"What do you think they are?" Peter asked, delaying the inevitable conclusion for just a moment longer.

"But how did you get them?" Astrid asked, turning to look at Peter. He could tell that the truth of the situation, which had been obvious to Olivia, had not occurred to her. Olivia knew him well enough to understand what Peter had done, and she accepted it. Astrid and Peter's relationship wasn't as close, and he suddenly worried that the truth would destroy the camaraderie that they had. But the truth was the truth, and he wasn't going to lie.

"I took them after I deactivated the shape shifter," Peter said.

"You deactivated . . . " Astrid said, glancing up at him with a worried, almost freighted, look in her eyes. "Was it . . . Peter, did you . . .? "

"Yes," Peter said, looking in her eye, hoping he hadn't just undone three years' worth of friendship.

She stared at him, slacked jawed, for a very long moment. "You lied," she finally said softly.

"I'm sorry," Peter said. "I should have been honest from the beginning. I can see that I wasted a lot of time and effort for the agency and . . ."

"You shot them," Astrid said as the full weight of Peter's actions started to dawn on her. "You executed them."

"I deactivated a machine," Peter insisted. "I stopped a murderous robot from killing any more people and conspiring with a force that wants to destroy our world."

"You obstructed justice," Astrid corrected, finally finding her footing in the law, which she knew well. "I can arrest you for this. You could go to jail."

"Will you?" Peter asked, fairly sure he knew the answer.

"I'm still deciding," Astrid responded cagily.

Peter smiled at her gratefully. "I didn't mean to obstruct justice. The truth is, I didn't think things through."

"You managed to totally confound the FBI," Astrid said. "I find it hard to believe you didn't have some plan."

"I didn't at first," Peter insisted. "I managed to burn myself a copy of the other Olivia's hard drive before the FBI confiscated the machine. I knew it wasn't permitted but, after what had happened, what she did . . . I had to know everything I could about her. I had to know how big a fool I'd been. I figured out the shape shifting code pretty early in my analysis of her files, but I couldn't tell anyone about it because then they'd know I stole the files. When we saw the machine, I panicked. And when I met Dr. Falcon, I realized that he would be communicating everything he learned with the other side. I had to do something."

"And so you chose to shoot him in the head?" Astrid asked.

"I chose to deactivate him as soon as possible, as subtly as possible. And, since I did that, I thought I might as well take the opportunity to learn everything he knew."

"And the others?"

"In for a penny, in for a pound," Peter said. "I should have told Olivia right away but, at the time, she still hadn't forgiven me. I didn't want to risk alienating her further."

"So you lied," Astrid said. "To everyone. You sent us on a wild goose chase and you withheld information."

"I did what I did," Peter said. "We can argue about the morality if you like, but I don't regret it. They were evil. They killed people. They were part of a conspiracy to use me to kill everyone in this world. It may have been a preemptive strike, but I don't think you can deny I acted in self-defense, and to protect the lives of others."

Astrid looked away from Peter. She looked exasperated and disgusted; an expression he'd seen her give Walter a thousand times, but she'd never used it on him. It made him feel like a cad – but he knew there was nothing he could do to change what he'd done. And, even with 20/20 hindsight, there was very little he would have done differently.

"So," she finally said. "Who else knows?"

"Olivia knows," Peter said. "And Walter."

"Broyles?" She asked.

"No," Peter said. "I've been kind of avoiding that conversation."

"I will not lie to my superior officer," Astrid informed him.

"I wouldn't ask you to," Peter assured her.

"Really," she asked critically. "Because that's exactly what it feels like you want me to do."

"I will tell him," Peter assured her. "And if you have to tell him before I can, I understand. But, please, give me a chance to do it in my own way."

Astrid looked at him skeptically. "I really hope I don't end up regretting this," she said.

Peter smiled at her, hoping to seem reassuring. "Do you want to see what I've learned?"

~B~R~E~A~K~

"So, how serious are you and Peter?" Big Eddie asked Olivia conversationally as they walked down the dark, abandoned halls of the Kresge Building.

"I don't do a lot that's not serious," Olivia told him.

"That's a damn shame," Eddie said, shaking his head sadly. "Peter can't be trusted. He's liable to run off."

"It's true that he did run off on you, after you tricked him into owing you half a million dollars and then threatened to kill him," Olivia said. "I think our situation is a little different."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see," Eddie said amiably.

Olivia did not react visibly to Eddie's obvious attempt at verbal intimidation. Still, a queasy feeling developed in the pit of her stomach. She knew he knew something that she didn't, and that didn't feel safe.

But, as Eddie started asking Agent Kholler interfering questions about his mother and sister, she reassured herself that she knew Peter. He had told her, less than a week ago, that she was the only thing in two universes worth saving. While that was undoubtedly romantic hyperbole, she knew part of him meant it. He loved her. She knew human nature well enough to know that a man like Peter would not 'run off' if it meant leaving the woman he loved.

They reached Peter's little lab, and found the door open. Astrid was sitting at the computer, focused on screen. Peter was standing behind her, keeping one eye on the door.

"Ah, Peter, my boy," Big Eddie said jovially as he and Olivia walked in. "It is good to see you!"

"I assure you the feeling is not mutual," Peter replied dryly.

"I'll stay in the hall," Agent Kholler said, looking at the lack of space in the tiny lab. "I'll be just out the door."

"Thank you," Olivia said as she closed the door.

"And a lovely assistant," Big Eddie observed as he walked around the table, his eyes on Astrid. "Miss Dunham must be the trusting sort to leave you alone with her."

"Agent Farnsworth has advanced degrees in computer science and cryptology," Olivia said curtly. Then she turned to Astrid. "Did you find anything?"

"I haven't had that much time with the data," Astrid said uncomfortably. "But as far as I can tell, the majority of information stored on these disks deals with the shape shifter's assumed identity."

"She's right," Eddie said. "Most units sent over have a very simple directive – something that can be summed up in a sentence. It's hard coded in, impossible to delete."

"Something like that should be easy to find," Olivia said hopefully.

"Not at all," Eddie corrected. "There's an encryption on each disk, hiding the hard-coded data for just this eventuality."

"So how do we break the encryption?" Peter demanded.

"No idea," Eddie said matter-of-factly. "Do I look like a computer genius to you?"

"Most defiantly not," Peter quipped. Olivia could hear a note of anger in his voice.

"Well, what can you help us with, then?" Olivia said quickly.

"I can help you find the encrypted code," Eddie replied. "And maybe, I can help you figure out what they told the other side."

"Can you, now?" Peter asked, sounding less angry.

Olivia nodded, "Then let's get started."

~B~R~E~A~K~

"Look, I gotta pee," Eddie said after about two hours of sorting through the endless data. They'd started with Falcon's data chip, as Peter felt he was in a position to know the most about the machine and about how it reacted to Peter. They'd been able to sort through the masses of information and find an encrypted string. Astrid was able to run a quick search and find a similar encryption on each of the other disks.

From there they started searching for the data that Falcon had sent to the other side. According to Eddie, the only information a shape shifter ever deleted from its record was the information it sent to the other side. "For situations like this one," he's said with a twisted smile.

With some effort, Astrid was able to uncover the remnants of the deleted information and was starting to reconstruct it when Eddie made his crass announcement. "It don't look like this is gonna happen any too quickly, so I don't see a reason to hold it."

"You have to do that?" Olivia asked, clearly surprised.

"Everything needs energy, doesn't it? So, might was well run on the same energy source as the people we're pretending to be," Eddie explained. "Same energy, same waste products. It's a perfectly logical system."

"Ok," Olivia said, "I think there's a rest room down the hall, I'll take you."

"Please," Eddie scoffed. "It's hard enough peeing when a guy is watching. I don't want to do it with a beautiful lady lookin' over my shoulder."

"It's no problem," Peter said. "I'll take you."

"You're not authorized," Olivia started.

"But Kholler is," Peter pointed out. "And he's right outside."

"Of course," Olivia said, shaking her head as if to dispel the cobwebs. "Be back in five minutes."

"Better give me ten," Eddie said. "Peein' ain't all I gotta do."

"Ugh," Astrid muttered in disgust.

"Ten," Olivia said, controlling her distaste for Eddies comment better than the younger agent. "After that, I'll break into the restroom if I have to."

"Something none of us want," Peter told her with a subtle smile as he opened the door. "Come on, Eddie."

"What's up?" Kholler asked as Eddie walked out of the door.

"Bathroom break," Peter explained.

"Yeah, Ok," Kholler said. "Bishop, you lead the way. Giordano, you follow him. And don't try anything, because I would love to shoot you down and spare the tedium of a trial."

"What," Eddie scoffed, "and have all you're hard work at evidence collecting go to waste?"

"Shut-up and move," was Kholler's only response.

Olivia watched the three men go down the hallway, down the stairs, and disappear around the corner into the dim recesses of the Kresge Building.

"So," Astrid asked as Olivia turned back into the small lab. "You knew about these disks."

"Yeah," Olivia said.

"And, you knew how he got them," Astrid pushed.

"Well, I suppose so," Olivia admitted. "There really was only one way to get them."

"And you didn't tell anyone," Astrid said, a note of accusation in her voice.

"I wasn't able to," Olivia said. "As soon as I found out, literally, a second afterwards, William Bell's spirit took over my body."

"And you came back to yourself almost two weeks ago," Astrid said. "You could have . . ."

"Done what?" Olivia asked, genuinely seeking Astrid's advice. "He trusted me. He asked me for help. And I love him."

"You had information about an open case," Astrid said. "You have a moral obligation to the FBI to share that information."

"I have a moral obligation to Peter too," Olivia said.

Astrid sighed and looked back at her screen. "Well, at least we'll be able to give Boyle's some useful information when we break the news."

"Yeah?" Olivia asked hopefully, "Were you able to retrieve something?"

"It's just coming up now," Astrid said.

Olivia rushed behind her friend, so she could look at the data as it displayed on the screen.

"What is all that?" Olivia asked. "Some kind of code?"

"Computer code," Astrid said. "Looks like a variant of C++—but don't worry about all that."

"Ok, what stuff am I worried about?"

"That should be coming . . .yes, here it is," Astrid said excitedly as a batch of readable text scrolled onto the screen.

SNT MSG

MASHINEWORKSASPREDICTED\ACCTIVATES2PRESENCEOFSUBJECT\&ONLYTRACEAMOUNTSNEEDED\\

RCD MSG

PROCEEDASINDICATED

"So," Olivia said after reading, rereading, and reading the message again. "'Machine works as predicted. Actives two . . .'"

"I think it should be 'at," Astrid said. "The numeral two and the at-sign are on the same key."

"Right," Olivia said. "'Activates at presence of subject' – so that would be Peter."

"Yeah," Astrid said.

"'Initial tests indicate DNA is primary trigger' . . . um, seven is and 'And only trace amounts needed. Will conduct further tests and report results.'"

"Then someone on the other side responded 'Proceed as indicated,'" Astrid finished.

"Which was promptly deleted," Olivia concluded. "There must be a way the shape shifters integrate these responses into their programming before they delete them."

"We'll have to ask Eddie about that," Astrid said. "It might save time on decrypting some of this data."

"Yeah," Olivia said, glancing up at the clock. "Where are they?"

"They still have two minutes," Astrid pointed out.

"I'm going to go take a peak down the hall," Olivia said. "Keep working on the data, I'll be right back."

"Ok," Astrid said, though the tone in her voice made it clear that she didn't think a peek was necessary. Still, Olivia's gut told her that Peter would not indulge Big Eddies attempts at stalling the processes. And, accordingly, she was concerned that it appeared the process was being stalled.

Olivia walked down the dark hallway, expecting to see Peter, Big Eddie, and Agent Kholler turn the corner and walk up the steps at any moment – but they did not do that. Instead, Olivia walked down the steps and turned the corner, hoping to see them exiting the bathroom that was just on the right, on the other side of a classroom.

Instead, she saw nothing.

Her heart started to beat quicker, and her right hand rested not quite casually on the handle of her gun as she walked up to the bathroom door. She pressed her ear against it, hoping to hear the telltale sounds of water running, or maybe even the men talking. But there was silence.

"Peter?" Olivia called, knocking on the door. "Kholler? Are you in there?"

No answer.

"I'm coming in," She yelled, and started to push open the door. But the door didn't open very far. There was something heavy lying across the doorway.

Throwing her weight behind the door, she pushed again, opening it enough to see what was blocking the door. It was LeRoy, the night security guard – clearly unconscious, possibly dead.

Olivia pulled out her cell phone and dialed Lt. Collins as quickly as possible. One ring and Collin's answered, "Collin's here. What can I . . ."

"Code red," Olivia said quickly. "Notify everyone. Harvard Security is disabled. Giordano, Kholler, and Bishop are missing."


	5. Take this as Goodbye

"Olivia, Olivia," Walter called. He sounded pathetic and scared, and Olivia's heart went out to the father who had, once more, lost his son. At least, she thought as the old man navigated through the swarms of FBI agents, police officers, and paramedics, this time he had every reason to believe he'd get his son back. "Is it true," Walter asked, grabbing onto her arm and looking her desperately in the eye. "Has the gangster really taken Peter?"

"It's true," Olivia told Walter as calmly as he could. "But you don't have to worry."

"Not worry!" Walter gasped. "The officer who brought me here said that Large Edward had threaded to kill Peter several times. He said that Peter was a fool to trust him."

"That officer doesn't know anything," Olivia said. "Big Eddie will not hurt Peter."

"But, why kidnap him?"

"We're working on that," Olivia said. "But I'm sure we'll find Peter safe and sound. The Forensics team already found a handkerchief soaked in chloroform, so it seems he took Peter alive."

"You can die from an overdose of chloroform," Walter said.

"I really don't think that happened," Olivia said.

"Even presuming the kidnapper did take Peter alive," Walter continued. "It has already been an hour. In most kidnapping cases, the longer the criminal has the child, the less likely he is to be found alive."

"I realize that, as a father, you'll probably always see Peter as a child," Olivia said. "But he is a very capable man who has survived much worse situations. He'll be fine."

Walter did not look convinced.

"Dunham!" Broyles 's sharp voice cut through the din around them. Olivia winced at the sound, unable to hide her anxiety about the trouble she knew was about to fall on her head.

"He sounds mad," Walter observed.

"He'll be madder if I keep him waiting," Olivia said, walking past Walter and heading bravely towards her superior.

"He must know that it is not your fault," Walter said, following her through the crowd.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Olivia muttered.

They found Broyles standing in the doorway of Peter's lab.

"Sir," Olivia said crisply.

"Do you care to explain this?" he asked sharply, nodding towards the lab where Astrid sat, pretending to be absorbed in whatever was coming across her computer screen. Olivia managed to make eye contact with the young agent for a second, but that second was enough for Olivia to realize that Astrid had told Broyles everything.

"It appears as if Peter Bishop killed all the shape shifters, harvested their memory chips, and has been attempting to analyze the data," Olivia said, choosing to interpret his question literally. "Since he was unable to make progress alone, he asked Eddie Giordano for help."

"Why didn't you tell me that Bishop killed the shape shifters?" Broyles demanded.

"It slipped my mind," Olivia said.

"Slipped your mind?" her superior asked, rage flashing in his large brown eyes. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

"As my body was unexpectedly possessed by a dead scientist literally the moment I learned of this lab and, accordingly, my consciousness was forced into a nightmarish version of my childhood from which I could not escape – yes, I think it is reasonable that you believe it."

"Did it slip your mind on the day you asked me to approve Giordano's visit to this building?"

Olivia took a deep breath and hoped her answer didn't sound as devious to him as it did to her. "No, sir. The truth is, Peter and I decided that it would be best to inform you of this place, and the items in it, after we'd harvested some valuable information from them."

"You wanted to trade the information for amnesty?" Broyles demand. "In a murder case?"

"In an obstruction of justice case," Olivia corrected. "Peter did not share all he knew about a federal investigation. I did not immediately notify you when I learned new details about that same investigation. Those were our only offence. And, considering we are not hiding any truly valuable information, I feel amnesty is not unreasonable."

"He shot the shape shifters in cold blood," Broyles said darkly.

"He deactivated machines that had killed humans in the past and were conspiring to kill every human on our side of the universe," Olivia countered evenly. "And considering those machines were created and sent to our universe by his biological father, I think a strong case can be made that they were his property – therefore he had the right to dispose of them as he saw fit."

"That's a twisted argument meant to justify twisted actions," Broyles said.

"Perhaps," Olivia agreed. "But, put yourself in Peter's shoes. A group of highly intelligent robots are conspiring to manipulate you into destroying everything you know and love. One of them is even performing medical tests on you. You can't tell me that you wouldn't do everything in your power to change the situation."

"There were options in his power that he chose not to take," Broyles said. He was still angry, but Olivia could tell that her arguments had made a difference. At very least, he seemed to be accepting her proposition that Peter had only destroyed machines, not murdered persons.

"And you can discuss that with him as soon as we find him," Olivia said, intentionally turning the conversation back to the problem at hand.

"And you will find him, won't you Agent Broyles?" Walter said, stepping forward. Both Broyles and Olivia started at the presence of the old man, about whom they had both forgotten.

"Agent Grant from organized crime is heading that effort," Broyles said tersely.

"Please, Agent Broyles," Walter insisted. "My boy was taken. I must know everything. Please."

Broyles sighed, but complied. "The Harvard security guard, LeRoy Jennson, was supposed to be monitoring the cameras while Bugstrum performed a foot patrol. The security cameras were disabled at eleven-forty-five, about fifteen minutes before the disappearance. Bugstrum was the basement and, accordingly, did not see or hear anything. We'll have to wait for Jennson to wake up to find out what he knows.

"The GPS on the car was deactivated," Broyles continued. "So we have no idea where they went. Collins from the BPD put out an APB, but so far no luck."

"What about his cell phone?" Walter asked. "It has a GPS too, does it not?"

"Both your son's and Kholler's cells were found in the men's room with the security guard," Broyles explained. "But, we are mentoring Big Eddie's phone lines to see if he tries to contact any of his known associates. It's only a matter of time."

"Time is relative," Walter said. "It is only a matter of time before our sun becomes a red giant and all life on this planet is fried to a crisp!"

"I certainly think we'll find them before then," Agent Broyles said, even as his cell phone chimed. Olivia's rang at the same time and both agents glanced at a text message.

"Is it from Peter?" Walter asked anxiously.

"No," Olivia said. "But they've found the car."

"And Peter?" Walter said.

"It doesn't say," Olivia said. "I've got to go see. I promise I'll call you at the lab soon as I find out anything."

"But, can't I come?" Walter asked. He looked so sad and fragile; it broke Olivia's heart to leave him.

"Not this time, Walter," Olivia said. "But I will find Peter and bring him back to you. Stay in the lab, and I'll keep you posted."

"Alright," Walter said softly as Olivia rushed away with Broyles – hopefully to find Peter and bring him home.

~B~R~E~A~K~

The car was abandoned at the edge of a Wal-Mart parking lot in one of Boston's northern suburbs. There were a handful of other cars parked in the lot for who-knew-what-reason and who-knew-how-long. Olivia scanned the light poles, a third of which did not work and another third of which were dim or flickering. She didn't see any surveillance cameras.

When Broyles and Olivia reached the scene at three a.m., the Boston P.D., paramedics, and a team from organized crime were already hard at work. They flashed their badges, walked under the yellow tape, and made a beeline for Agent Grant and Agent Kholler, the latter of whom was sitting in the back of an ambulance occasionally taking deep breaths from an oxygen tank.

"Agent Grant," Broyles snapped as they walked up to the car. "Report!"

"Sir," Grant said, his voice dripping with frustration and, perhaps, a touch of sarcasm. "A patrol car noticed it at 2:25. By that time, Bishop and Giordano had already abandoned it. Kholler here was found handcuffed in the back."

"Any serious injures?" Broyles asked.

"The bastards used chloroform," Kholler said after taking a deep breath of oxygen. "I've never felt so sick in my life. But, no sir, I'm fine."

"Do you remember what happened?" Olivia asked.

"Bishop and Giordano went into the restroom and I was waiting by the door – that's the last thing I remember. Then I woke up handcuffed in the back of the car. I could hear Giordano and Bishop arguing about whether to kill me or not."

"Are you saying that Bishop was conspiring with Giordano?" Broyles asked.

"I'm telling you what I heard," Kholler said, though his tone of voice implied heavily that he was saying Peter and Big Eddie were conspirators. "Lucky for me, your boy won the argument. Once that was settled, they parked the car and just left."

"When was that?" Broyles asked.

"Hard to say," Kholler said right before he started coughing a rough, hacking cough. He took a deep breath of oxygen before answering, "About half an hour before the cops found me."

"Which puts us at around 2 a.m.," Grant supplied.

"Did anything show up on surveillance cameras?" Broyles asked.

"There's nothing in this lot," Grant said. "Closest one is at North and 85th," he nodded to an intersection nearly a quarter mile to the left. "The BPD have a guy looking at the footage, but you can't see into the car from that camera – only licensees plates – so we'll have to do a search on each plate to see if any of them come up suspicious. And, if they turned right, we don't have a camera until Jackson and 85th, which is almost five miles away."

"They could have turned off a dozen places by then," Olivia observed.

"Doesn't mean it's not worth looking at," Kholler said. "I did not spend four years of my life building this case just to have Big Eddie slip through my fingers."

"At least the buses don't run this late," Olivia pointed out. "Are people calling the taxi companies to see if anyone was picked up in this neighborhood?"

"Of course," Grant said, "But I doubt that'll show fruit. They must have had a car waiting for them here."

"Agent Dunham," Boyles said, turning to Olivia. "I would like you to examine the car."

"We've examined the car," Grant snapped. "Anything you can find with the naked eye, we've found."

"I would still like Agent Dunham to examine it," Broyles replied sharply.

"What could she possibly see that we did not?" Grant demanded.

"A message left for her," Broyles said.

"A message, sir?" Olivia asked.

"You asked me earlier today to put myself in Bishop's shoes," Broyles said. "And, if I were him, I'd try to leave a message. I think it's safe to assume he'd leave that message for you."

"If he left you a message, it'll be thanks for the memories," Kholler spat as Olivia walked away towards the car. "He worked with Eddie before and it's clear he's working with him again."

Broyles snapped at Agent Kholler, reprimanding the younger officer for contributing nothing but demoralizing criticism. However, the damage had been done. As Olivia looked for a message that clearly wasn't there, she couldn't help but hear Big Eddie's warning earlier in the night "Peter can't be trusted . . . He's liable to run off."

~B~R~E~A~K~

Peter woke up in a fit of coughing. He rolled over, only to fall onto a very hard floor and cough some more. When he opened his eyes, all he saw was darkness.

Forcing his body to conform to his will; he took a series of deep breaths, ignored the fire in his lungs, and stopped coughing. He strained his eyes, trying to see any dot of light that would give him a clue to where he was. There were none.

He reached out and felt for the bed he'd fallen off of. It was behind him, a solid metal frame about a foot and a half high holding up a thin mattress. Under the mattress was what felt like three drawers. Peter determined that he could open them later. From the bed he was able to feel his way to a wall. He followed the wall about two feet to the left and he bumped into a metal table that would not be moved, as if it were bolted to the floor. He felt his way around the table and found another wall perpendicular to the one with the bed on it. He followed that wall and quickly felt a narrow door. The door swung open easily and on the other side, right where he'd hoped to find it, there was a light switch. Peter flipped the switch and winced at the sudden burst of ugly, yellow, artificial light.

The room in front of him was not what he'd expected. After living with Walter and watching the commonly held perceptions of reality shatter every day, he'd come to expect the bizarre, the mind blowing, the inconceivable. But, what he saw was not that. He saw himself, blurry and dim, in the cheap and dirty mirror of a tiny bathroom. Under the mirror was a small, dirty sink. To the right of the sink was a small toilet. To the left of the sink a narrow, practically claustrophobic, shower stall. Bewildered, he turned around and saw the room he was in. On his right was a small table, little more than a desk, bolted to the floor. A bench with calico cushion on the seat was built into the wall next to it. On the other side of the table there was the bed he'd fallen out of. On the far wall was a built in chest of drawers with an old TV/DVD player on top of it. Next to that, there was a built in bookshelf packed with cheap paperbacks and an array of DVDs. On the left wall was a door with a note taped onto it.

Peter went straight for the door and, as he expected, found it locked. He then turned to the note:

_Peter,_

_I've told you a lot of lies over the years, but what I told you this past week was all true. My one goal in life is to keep you safe, and you sure as hell ain't safe with the FBI. They'll throw you in that machine, sure as sure. So I'm sending you to South Africa. A guy on the boat owes me, and he'll see to it that your trip is reasonably pleasant. If I were you, I'd stay in Johannesburg once you get there. If you're half a planet away from that damn machine, it can't kill you. Also, the FBI thinks you helped me escape. You'll probably be looking at some jail time if you do decide to come back._

_You won't see me again, so take this as goodbye._

_Eddie_

"A boat to Johannesburg," Peter said, dumbfounded. He had no idea how long it would take to sail to South Africa, but he was sure he did not want to find out.

He reached into his pocket, but was not surprised to find that his cell phone was gone. Luckily, Eddie had not found it necessary to strip Peter of all his personal belongings. The collapsible, stainless steel multi-tool that Olivia had given him for Christmas two years ago was still in his pocket. He had a pair of pliers, a Phillips head and standard screwdriver, a corkscrew, a file, and a small knife blade. Hopefully, that would be enough for what he needed.

He unplugged the TV/DVD player, carried it over to the desk, and got to work.


	6. The Flaxmann

In a large room filled with agents calling local authorities, cross checking license plates, and listening to wire taps of the Giordano home, Olivia sat a table in the corner and watched as piles and piles of information was amassed – the vast majority of it useless.

Grant, apparently taking his lesson from Tommy Lee Jones, had called on a multi-state manhunt. He swore that if Big Eddie was hiding somewhere, he'd find him, and if the gangster was running, Grant would catch him. It was an impressive effort, unfortunately based on faulty premises. Grant assumed Peter was an accomplice, not a prisoner. He also assumed Big Eddie still existed.

Olivia watched the data accumulation, keeping her eyes peeled, not for signs of Big Eddie (which would certainly not appear) nor for Peter (which would probably not appear) but rather for opportunities for an unknown person to hide something.

Commercial airplane travel was out of the question, there was far too much security – far too many chances for Peter to escape, or draw the attention of the authorities. Olivia ignored all the information flooding in from the regional airports. The same was true of Amtrak and regional trains.

Cars were a different story. Eddie had abandoned one car, almost certainly transferring to another–but there was no way of knowing what kind. Peter could easily be locked in the trunk of a large car or in the back of a van. Even though the search had begun in the wee hours of the morning, when there was comparatively little traffic, the numbers of cars driving through or leaving the Boston Metro Area were intimidating. As Grant already had a host of people searching for that one hypothetical car, Olivia thought it seemed best for her to focus on other scenarios for the time being.

If Olivia ignored the possibilities of commercial airplane, passenger train, or car, that left private airplanes, freight trains, boats, and hiding.

Grant had at least half of his task force looking for hiding places in the Boston area, but Olivia realized that hiding would be a dangerous proposition for Big Eddie. To begin with, Big Eddie himself would not have to hide from the FBI. The shape-shifter could be anyone at this point – looking for him would be useless. But trying to hide Peter would only be a burden to whoever Eddie now was. Added to that, Peter was fit and resourceful. Trying to keep him locked up in a basement or warehouse would be a short-lived and fruitless endeavor. If Big Eddie were trying to hide Peter locally, Olivia had no doubt Peter would make himself known, by some means, very soon. All she would have to do was watch and wait.

She decided to keep focusing on ways of getting out of Boston: in particular, ways of getting an unwilling Peter out of Boston.

The number of private planes in the area was small. Besides which, it was something Grant was sure to check. She left that possibility to him.

This left her with freight trains and boats.

Olivia did not know much about freight trains. She supposed railroad workers could be bribed to lock people into empty boxcars. But how far would an empty boxcar go before someone tried to fill it? Even assuming the car made it all the way across the country, that would only be a about a three day trip. And, as soon as Peter was discovered he'd be back in Boston, helping the Feds catch Eddie.

The boat, however, would take longer and go further. Big Eddie had been involved in lots of illegal activity around Boston's harbor. Grant had evidence that Eddie was using an employment firm for seamen as a front for money laundering. There was considerable evidence that he was using a bar near the docks to run his gambling operation. His brother-in-law worked at the port of Boston as a longshoreman.

Olivia started looking at the data from the Massachusetts Port Authority and quickly found a promising lead.

~B~R~E~A~K~

There was a knock on the door.

For a moment, Peter panicked. He'd totally disassembled the TV, leaving pieces strewn all over the tiny room. There was no way he could hide the mess – no way he could hide that he was doing something. And no way that whoever was coming to check on him wouldn't know that the something Peter was doing was not in their best interest.

But, Peter realized, so what? He was trapped on a boat on his way to another continent. If he didn't make it back to Boston – back to Olivia – in time, the earth would literally end. What could the person on the other side do to him that was worse than that?

"It's locked," Peter said. "I can't let you in. If you want to let me out, that'd be great."

The door opened and a small, man with cinnamon skin, a neat black beard, and a red turban wrapped tightly around his head stood in the doorway. He was dressed neatly, in a white button up short-sleeved shirt tucked into well-fitting jeans. Over his shoulder he had a computer bag. "Peter, isn't it?" he asked.

"And who are you?" Peter demanded.

"Your host," the man said simply. "I am glad to see that you are up and well."

"Really?" Peter scoffed. "What did Big Eddie have on you? Why are you helping him?"

"Your friend, Eddie, has nothing on me," the man said with bitter relish. "The same could not be said for my brother-in-law, who cannot control himself when there is a game of dice. I have taken on his debts to save his family from ruin."

"By committing a crime?" Peter said. "When they find us, and the FBI will find us, you'll go to jail."

"But my nephews will not live in shame for what their father did," the man said.

Peter looked at his host, bewildered. He'd known he must have a jailor – Eddie wouldn't have sent him to South Africa just to have him starve on the trip – but he had expected the man to be a thug in league with the gangster, or perhaps a desperate man deeply indebted to him. The second option may have described this man's brother-in-law, but the man before Peter was reasonable and civilized. He was also about an inch shorter then Peter, and had a smaller frame. Peter figured he could overpower the man and force his way out of the room – if it came to that.

"Ok, so you're noble, congratulations," Peter said. "It doesn't change the fact that you kidnapped me."

"I've brought you breakfast," the man said, pulling a sandwich wrapped in wax paper out of his bag. "I will bring you lunch and dinner as well."

"Do you expect me to say 'thank you?'" Peter asked as he took the sandwich.

"No," the man said with a sigh. "But, I expect you to understand that I am not only your host, but your protector as well. If the Captain was to find you on board, he would not believe your claims about being kidnapped. He would assume you are a stowaway. He would put you in the white room – which is not as nice a room as this. And I doubt he would trouble himself, or his crew, to see that you got three meals a day. You are more comfortable as my prisoner than as his.

"I, for example, do no mind that you have torn apart the TV and are attempting to make some sort of device to help you escape, or contact the authorities, or what not. The captain would surely express his displeasure in a very uncomfortable manner. But then, he would never have allowed you a TV."

"You can't really expect the boogie-man of a captain to scare me away from trying to escape."

"I am telling you the truth of your situation," the man said. "I leave you to decide how to proceed.

"You will find clothes that should fit you in the drawers there," the man said pointing to the drawers under the bed. "You will find the toiletries you need in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom."

"How long has Eddie been planning this?" Peter asked.

"My brother-in-law contacted me about it two weeks ago," the man said. "The preparations were difficult, but I hope you will find they were complete."

"This was planned from the start," Peter said, mystified. "Before he even kidnapped Olivia. But how did he know he could get me on that night?"

"I cannot answer that question," his host said. "If you find you need anything more, tell me and I will see what I can provide."

"A tube of multicore electronics solder would be useful," Peter said.

"I'm afraid I do not have one," his host replied. "But I will give you this; as a show of my good faith I will leave this door unlocked for the remainder of the journey. I do not advise you to go wondering through the ship – but those are choices you must make for yourself."

With that, the short man stepped back and closed the door. Peter stepped forward, tried the door, and found that it did open. He watched the man, his host, walk down the long dark hallway – presumably to his work on the ship.

Peter stepped backwards into his room and sat on the bed, bewildered by the encounter. With a sigh of resignation, he unwrapped his sandwich and started eating the peanut butter and marmalade on white. It was a little bit cloying, but he forced it down. He had to think carefully about his next step, and he couldn't allow himself to be distracted by hunger. If he chose to stay in the tiny room, it was Peter's own choice, and he'd be complicit in the conspiracy to keep him away from his responsibilities, the machine, and Olivia. If he left the room, he might get caught, and his chances of building a transmitter and contacting aid would disappear.

Eddie, the master manipulator, had manipulated Peter once again.

~B~R~E~A~K~

"What is the meaning of this?" Grant demanded angrily as he burst into Broyles office brandishing a printout of an e-mail he'd received less than three minutes ago.

"I should be asking you that question, Agent," Broyles said, clearly furious at the intrusion. He, Olivia, Astrid, and Walter were waiting there for a phone call from the roof that would tell them when the Coast Gaud's helicopter arrived. The helicopter would take them to the _USCGC Stratton_, which was currently patrolling New York harbor. From there, they would intercept the _Flaxmann_, a handysized cargo ship that had left Boston with the tide at 2:30 a.m.

"We are busting our butts to follow every credible lead and find Giordano," Grant said, ignoring Broyles' tone. "And you decide to take a boat ride?"

"Peter could be on that boat," Walter said as he pushed himself out of one of the comfortable armchairs in front of Broyles' desk. "And our first priority is finding Peter."

"You have Bishop's father up here?" Grant asked, amazed. "Don't tell me you're taking him on the search."

"What resources I choose to use in a search for a member of my team is none of your business," Broyles clipped, his anger still audible. "Now I have a question for you; did you come up here just to piss off your superior officers? In case you are wondering, that was not rhetorical."

"No sir," Grant said, obviously cowed by Boyle's sharp, if not overtly spoken, criticism. "I came up here to see what the hell was going on. The _Flaxmann_ is not on our radar. What do you think you know?"

Walter laughed. "Young man, we hardly have time for such a long exposition."

"Sir, if I may?" Olivia asked, glancing at Broyles. He nodded.

"Giordano knows people at the docks. He's done business there. His brother-in-law, whom he lives with, works there. If he needed to get someone out of town, a boat is the obvious solution. Any number of people who owe him could have helped."

"You assume that Bishop is being held against his will," Grant said. His tone of voice made it clear that he thought that it was a naive assumption.

"Of course he is," Walter protested. "Peter would never help a man like that."

"Except for all those times he did," Grant said. "They worked together before. Why not now?"

"Because he's working for us now," Broyles said with a note of finality in his voice. "Continue, Agent Dunham."

"Giordano had an hour and a half from when he went missing until we found the car," Olivia continued. "That was plenty of time to get from Harvard to the dock, transfer Peter, and ditch the car in Lynn. The _Flaxmann_ set sail with the tide at 0230 this morning on its way to Johannesburg, South Africa. It is the only boat that makes sense with the timeline. "

"How could Giordano ditch the car all the way up in Lynn if he's on the ship?" Grant asked.

"I didn't say he was on the ship," Olivia clarified. "I said Peter was on the ship."

"Assuming Bishop isn't working with Giordano," Grant said. "Why do you think he's still alive and not lying somewhere with a bullet through the skull?"

"Oh Peter!" Walter gasped, as if Grant was delivering news not spinning a worst-case scenario.

"You think I don't know that's a possibility?" Olivia asked. "Of course it is. But FBI protocol dictates that we prioritize recovering and protecting victims. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but part of that means not assuming he or she is dead when there is no evidence of a murder."

"The _Flaxmann_ is a good lead," Broyles said. "Judge Lee thought so when he signed the search warrant and Captain Ryland thought so when she agreed to take her ship out and perform a search. The only person who seems opposed to this thread of investigation is you, Agent Grant."

Grant stared at her a moment. His expression was impassive, but hostile.

"Take a second to consider the possibility that you are wrong about Peter," Olivia insisted, trying not to sound as angry as she was. "If so, finding him is the best chance we have of finding Big Eddie."

"Or maybe wasting our time looking for Bishop is the best chance Eddie has of slipping out of our fingers," Grant replied angrily.

"You took a risk for us, and you lost," Olivia said, attempting to cut through the posturing and get to the heart of the issue. "I see that. And you have every right to be furious. But what you need to see is that this team, that Peter, is not the villain."

There was a long pause where Grant looked from Broyles to Olivia and from Olivia to Walter. It was perfectly obvious that he disliked everything he knew about this small division of the FBI. It was also perfectly obvious that their investigation was bearing fruit while his was not. Finally, he said, "You're gonna think I'm a jackass, and you're not far off – but, is there room for me on that helicopter?"


	7. Colder than Expected

"It's colder out here than I thought," Walter said as he stepped off of the helicopter and onto the landing pad on the USCGC Stratton. "I should have brought him a sweater."

"If Peter's cold, I'm sure the coast guard will have something for him," Astrid assured him.

Astrid's comment did not assure Agent Grant, however. Olivia heard him let out a sigh of disgust. He was not charmed by Walter's eccentricities, nor by his clear concern for the wellbeing of his son. A petty part of Olivia delighted in her fellow agent's exasperation.

Before Grant could express that exasperation any further, a middle-aged woman in a crisp coast guard uniform approached them. "Agent Broyles?" she asked, her eyes fixing on the tall lead agent.

"Captain Ryland," he replied with a polite nod and a firm handshake. "This is Agent Dunham, Agent Grant, Agent Farnsworth, and Doctor Walter Bishop."

"Bishop?" the captain asked. "Relation of the victim?"

"I am his father," Walter said. "And I would appreciate it if you could arrange for a blanket for Peter once you find him. And for me now. It's much colder on this boat than I anticipated."

"You'll have to excuse Doctor Bishop," Agent Broyles said, a touch of annoyance in his voice. "I'm sure you can understand his concern."

"Of course," Captain Ryland said, sounding amused. "But I didn't realize the family of victims usually accompanied the FBI in investigations."

"Doctor Bishop is a brilliant scientist and well respected member of my team," Broyles said in a tone of voice that did not invite questions.

"Then I'm honored to have him abroad," Captain Ryland said in a friendly tone without a touch of sarcasm.

From that exchange, Olivia got the impression that Captain Ryland, though a very gracious person liked the niceties of life. The Captain would not be offended by Broyles's curtness, Grant's demands, or even Walter's eccentricities, but she would be pleased if someone made the effort to be polite on top of being efficient and official. "Captain," Olivia said, stepping forward and smiling at the other woman. "Thank you for your assistance in this case."

"It's always a pleasure to help another agency," the captain said returning Olivia's smile. "If y'all will follow me to the bridge, I think you'll find it a little warmer."

Once they were in the bridge, Captain Ryland directed them to a large screen displaying a nautical map of the northeast coastline with two dots moving across it.

"This is us," she said, indicating the larger blue dot with a gold center just off New York's coast. "And this is the _Flaxmann_," she said pointing to a red dot to the east. "She's going southeast at about 14 knots, heading to the Cape of Good Hope."

"And how fast are we going?" Grant asked.

"I just told the skipper to take us to twenty knots," Ryland said. "We should overtake them in about forty minutes."

"And then what will the procedure be?" Grant asked.

"Your investigation, your lead," Ryland said. "We'll facilitate you as much as we can. What do you think you'll need?"

"We'll need to search the _Flaxmann_," Broyles said. "And interview its crew."

"Well, that will be a job," Ryland said. "I'll get my Commander to organize search teams. I assume you'll want to be doing the interviews."

"Yes," Grant said. "I have a list of crewmembers who may have had contact with our suspect. We'll start with them."

"Suspect?" Ryland said. "I thought we were looking for shanghaied defense contractor."

"He might just be AWOL," Grant said. "And in league with an escaped criminal."

"I would appreciate it, Agent Grant, if you would cease from maligning my son's character in front of the pretty coast guard captain," Walter snapped.

"We would also like to request the assistance of some medical personnel," Broyles said. "Doctor Bishop and Agent Farnsworth will need to collect blood samples from the _Flaxmann_'s crew for analysis."

"Blood samples," Ryland asked, obviously confused. "The warrant didn't say anything about that."

"We won't force a blood sample from anyone," Olivia assured the captain.

"Why not?" Walter interjected. "Do you think the shape shifter will give his blood willingly when he knows it will give him away?"

"Shape shifter?" Captain Ryland asked, glancing for agent to agent skeptically.

"Doctor Bishop's theories are not being taken seriously by the FBI," Agent Grant said, glaring at the old man.

"The present circumstances would seem to indicate that it is your theories, young man, which are not being taken seriously," Walter replied cuttingly.

"Captain," Olivia said quickly, before Grant could get in a reply. "I don't suppose there is there a nice, out of the way place for Walter to wait?"

"How about the commons?" Captain Ryland offered. "They got a little coffee bar area. One of the perks of a state-of-the-art ship."

"That would be perfectly adequate if the coffee bar served snacks," Walter said with all seriousness. "Preferably muffins."

"I think we can set you up," Captain Ryland said sending Olivia an amused glance. Olivia smiled gratefully back.

~B~R~E~A~K~

Peter walked carefully through the dimly lit halls of the ship. He'd decided to risk being caught and the prospect of a transatlantic trip on bread and water simply because he could not bear the idea of letting Big Eddie manipulate him into imprisoning himself. Besides, if he was going to make a transponder to broadcast an S.O.S. he really did need something to solder with.

Peter was not unfamiliar with cargo ships. They almost always needed bright engineers and almost never called your references. It was a good way to get from here to there if you didn't have enough money, or if you didn't want your name to show up on a manifest of any kind. Granted, he'd broken a few contracts when he did not return from shore leave, but he consoled his conscience with the knowledge that he'd always left the ship in better shape than he found it.

As Peter walked through the halls, it became clear to him he was on one of the higher decks, which were reserved for crew quarters. All the quarters around his little room were empty; however, which meant the ship was running on a light crew. That wasn't surprising, as the ship appeared to be at least twenty years old. Computers and robots had, undoubtedly, made some of the jobs redundant. All the better, Peter reasoned, fewer people to find him.

All the mechanical equipment, including soldering tools, would be in a supply closet off the engine room. There were bound to be people around there, as no amount of robots or computers would ever be able to replace a sharp engineer, so Peter would have to be careful. Shift changes would be, by far, the most dangerous time to hang around. People would be coming and going – getting or putting away their tools and supplies. During the middle of a shift would be the safest time to raid the supply closet, but he would always run the risk of an engineer coming in to get something he'd run out of, or a tool that he'd forgotten to grab. Unfortunately for Peter, there would always be someone on shift, and a shift change would never be more than two hours away. His first goal was to find a place to hide near the supply closet. With any luck, it would only take him a few hours to observe the shift change, run into the closet, get what he needed, and sneak back to his room.

The engine room was easy to find and the supply closet was conveniently labeled. Peter could hear people on the inside, laughing. It seemed that he happened to venture out in the middle of a shift change, or the engineers on this ship had a lax work ethic. In either event, it was bad news for him.

He looked around for a place to hide. If a man really wanted to hide – to disappear from site for long periods of time – there was no better place than a ship. It was full of nooks and crannies, almost all of which had solid doors that a man could disappear into. But if a man just wanted to be inconspicuous for a few minutes while waiting for a group to pass, there was no worse place than a ship. Every opening was covered by a door, usually a heavy door with no window, that would squeak on its hinge and draw attention to itself if it was left open a crack.

Before Peter could find so much as a door that was not locked, the door to the supply closet swung open and three large men walked out, laughing heartily. The laughter stopped, however, when they saw Peter.

"Who the hell are you?" a large man with wide shoulders, a thick, bushy black beard, and totally bald head demanded. He was wearing a pair of oil-stained overalls and a white undershirt, which displayed numerous tattoos on his skin. Peter knew the type, a professional seaman – not someone Peter wanted to cross.

The other two men were only slightly less intimidating. There was a younger man carrying a tool chest. He was clean-shaven with a buzz cut and had on jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel shirt over it, all of them dirty. While he was not as large as the bald man, he was more muscular, and just as tattooed. The third man was the least intimidating physically; he appeared to be in his mid-sixties – clearly strong for his age, but also overweight. A web of red veins was visible on his nose and cheeks, indicating he was recently, if not currently drunk. But the chevrons on his company shirt identified him as the captain, the man who could save Peter, or starve him.

"My name's Peter Bishop," Peter said quickly, tapping into and emphasizing the fear and desperation he felt. He needed their empathy or, failing that, he needed them to be so disgusted with him that they would not think for a moment he was capable of conning anyone. "I was working in Boston, in my lab, and something happened. I woke up here. Please, you've got to contact the coast guard, or someone."

"You're saying you were shanghaied?" the bald man asked with a disbelieving scoff.

"There was a man," Peter continued. "A small man in a turban. He said he helped a gangster named Big Eddie kidnap me."

"A man with a turban?" The captain asked.

"Singh," the younger man suggested. "He's small, always wears a turban."

"And he's the last one in this ship who'd get mixed up with doc scum," The Captain retorted. "Whoever the hell you are, and whyever you made it onto my ship, you will regret it."

"Believe me, I don't want to be here," Peter said. "If you just contact the authorities, they're probably looking for me."

"Like we have time for that," the Captain growled. "McCullin, take the stowaway to the white room and lock the door." Turning to Peter he said, "I'll think about you later."

"Yes sir," the young man said, handing the tools to the older man before stepping forward and grabbing Peter's arm gruffly. Peter didn't resist, allowing the young man to pull him down the hall, push him up two narrow flights of steps, and into another long hall.

"What do you think your captain will do?" Peter asked, letting his veneer of fear and panic slip. The man, McCullin, was obviously too young to have any real authority on the ship, so there was no need to engender his pity. Moreover, he struck Peter as a man who was likely to abuse people if he could get away with it. While Peter thought that he could probably hold his own if young thug decided to start something, he figured it would be best to avoid that situation altogether.

"He'll find out what really happened," McCullin said. "And, whoever helped you, he'll get punished."

"No one helped me," Peter said. "I was abducted against my will."

"Right," he laughed. "Why?"

"It's complicated," Peter said, feeling that it was unwise to bring up shape shifters and parallel universes.

"Oh, that's a great explanation," McCullin said sarcastically. "You'd better think of something soon, else the Captain'll bust your head."

"Bust my head?" Peter asked. "Figuratively or literally?"

The young man didn't answer. Instead he opened a nondescript door in the middle of the hallway and said, "Get in."

"Is this the white room?" Peter asked.

"Yeah."

"Why do you call it that?"

"Because there's nothin' in it but the white walls," McCullin answered.

"Apt," Peter commented. Before he could say anything else a cracking announcement was broadcasts over the ship's speaker system.

"Captain to the bridge. Captain to the bridge."

"Get in there," McCullin said, pushing Peter suddenly and roughly, knocking him off balance and tripping into the dark room. Before Peter could quite catch his footing, the door closed. In the thick, impenetrable darkness, Peter could hear the lock click into place. He felt his way to a wall and eventually found the light switch. As McCullin had said, there was nothing in the room but white walls.

Peter sighed, leaned against the featureless wall, and slid down so he was sitting. He'd bet his limited freedom, his ability to defy Eddie's plans, against his chance of contacting help, and he'd lost both. All he had left was the hope that Olivia would find him.

But that, Peter had to admit, was hardly nothing.

~B~R~E~A~K~

"All our paperwork was properly filed," Captain Sumter said, glaring at Captain Ryland and the group of law enforcement agents she lead. "Up to code, employment status cleared, tariffs paid – hell, even got the damn cat her shots." He said, nodding towards a fat calico that was sleeping in a patch of sun on the far side of the bridge.

"Believe it or not, Captain," Captain Ryland said. "I am not here to check up on your veterinary records. We are looking for two persons of interest who disappeared from Boston last night. One of them has close ties to the shipping community and, accordingly, we are searching every ship they may have escaped on."

"These persons, are they criminals?" Captain Sumter asked, looking interested.

"Yes," Agent Grant snapped before Ryland could answer.

"Reward?" Sumter asked. He sounded hopeful.

"Well, there is the good feeling you get for helping your country," Captain Ryland said. "Also, time is money. So you can consider all of your time we don't have to waist with a full search as a reward."

That argument seemed to convince Captain Sumter. "I found a stowaway just before you hailed us. He's locked up downstairs."

"Can you describe him?" Olivia asked eagerly.

"Oh, hell, I don't know," the grubby captain muttered. "White. Brown hair. Clean cut. Looked 'bout thirty."

"It's Peter," Olivia said, unable to keep the relief from her voice. But, a glare from Agent Grant reminded her of her company and she quickly added, "Peter Bishop, one of the men we're looking for. We'd like to see him right away."

"Singh," the captain barked. A slight man wearing a neat company shirt and a dark red turban stepped forward.

"Their guy's in the white room. Show them down, OK?"

"Yes sir," the man said placidly. Turning to Olivia, he said "Will you follow me, please?"

Olivia and Agent Grant followed the man to a door at the back of the bridge. As they were walking away, she could hear Ryland and Broyles continue talking with the captain.

"Is that it, then?" Sumter said.

"I'm afraid not," Broyles informed him. "We'll need to see everyone on your ship. We would particularly like blood samples from everyone on board."

"You're kidding!" Sumter spat.

"I need to make it clear that that is not covered under the warrant," Captain Ryland said. "However, if you're men have nothing to hide, they should not mind."

The door behind them was closed and Olivia did not hear the rest of that conversation.

Their guide led them down two flights of stairs and through a long hall. At a nondescript door, he stopped. "The Captain said the man you are looking for is in here."

"Open the door, please," Olivia said.

"Do you think the man is dangerous?" the man asked, hesitating as his hand reached the door latch.

"No," Olivia said flatly.

"Could be," Grant answered a split second after her.

"I see," the man said, looking from one agent to the other. Olivia could see he was trying to decide whom to trust. He was also noting the Kevlar vests under their windbreakers and the guns strapped to their belts.

Slowly, he unlocked the door and opened it. Olivia's heart jumped into her throat and she could not keep herself from smiling when she saw Peter, disheveled but unharmed, standing alone in the small empty room.

"Olivia?" He asked breathlessly. He sounded as relived to see her as she felt to see him.

"Peter!" she said, ignoring procedure and decorum and the undoubted disapproval of Agent Grant as she went into the room and embraced him.

She felt his arms wrap around her and for a second there was the familiar, reassuring pressure. But, before she could relax into it and believe with every fiber in her body that the man she loved was safe, she was pushed forcibly away.

She stumbled backwards and Peter stepped backwards, leveling her side arm and pointing it at her head.


	8. A Win's a Win

"Peter," she said again, baffled and a little afraid.

"I'm sorry Olivia." He sounded sorry – his voice shook a little. But his had did not shake. His eyes looked sad but determined, and she knew he'd thought about what he was doing and would not be talked down. "But if you are Olivia, you'll understand. And if you are not Olivia, I owe it to her to kill you right now."

"I do understand," Olivia said, trying to catch his eye, hoping that he would see it was her, but knowing he'd been too badly burned to trust his feelings.

"I don't!" Grant shouted, trying to break into the intense moment. Peter did not move his gun, but glanced over to the other FBI agent who was now pointing his side arm at Peter. "Put the gun down Bishop or I swear to God I will shot you."

"I will, I promise I will," Peter said. "But I just have to ask you, all of you, a question."

"This isn't Jeopardy!" Grant said.

"What did you tell me in the hall after the briefing?" Peter asked.

"What are you talking about?" Grant demanded.

"You were getting on the elevator," Peter said. "You told me something. What was it?"

"Answer the question," Olivia urged her fellow agent.

"I told you I'd blame you if anything went wrong," Grant said. "And things have gone wrong, and what you're doing now isn't making you look less guilty!"

"Right answer," Peter said briskly before turning his attention to the man in the turban, who was standing, frozen with fear, against the bulkhead on the far side of the hall. "You, when was your Amrit ceremony?"

"What?" the man asked. "Why?"

"Just answer him," Olivia urged.

"I was fourteen," the man said. "So, that would have been in . . ."

"Good enough," Peter said dismissively. "But I'm still gonna want a blood test."

"Anything, anything," the man said. "But please put down the gun."

"Olivia," Peter said, much more gently, looking her in the eyes, practically begging her to get the question right. "Who's the man with the X on his shirt?"

For a split second her mind was a total blank. She hadn't expected any question in particular, but this one threw her off guard. Her mind raced through places they'd been together, people they'd seen, who may or may not have had an X on their shirt. Was it a witness they'd interviews? Was it the bartender at the bar down the street from her house? Was it one of the kids who jumped in front of the car and cleaned their windshield last Wednesday?

"Peter, I'm . . ."

"You have to know!" Peter said insistently. His voice was fully shaking and tears were forming in his eyes. "Olivia knows. Only Olivia knows. She told me, and if you don't know you aren't Olivia."

She told him . . . she told him . . .

"Peter, Peter Listen!" she said throwing her hands out as if to stop a bullet he might be tempted to fire. "You won't kill me, you can't kill me, because he's going to kill me. I don't know his name, or who he is, but I know he's the man who will kill me."

"It's you," Peter sighed as he lowered the gun. The corner of his mouth twitched up in the very beginnings of a smile and the tears in his eyes rolled down his cheeks.

Olivia's heart ached as she saw the relief in his eyes. She wanted to run to him, to kiss him, to assure him in any way that she could that she was herself, and she loved him. But, before she had a chance to act on such warm emotions, Agent Grant lunged at Peter, knocking him roughly against the wall before forcing him face down onto the ground.

"You are under arrest for assaulting a federal officer and aiding and abiding the escape of a fugitive," Grant said gruffly as he pulled Peter's hands into cuffs.

"No he's not!" Olivia protested.

"Olivia, it's fine," Peter said as Grant hauled him to his feet. "Anything to get me off this ship."

"You have the right to remain silent," Grant continued, ignoring their conversation. "Anything you say can and will be used against you . . . "

"Do you know where Eddie is?" Peter asked as he was pushed roughly out of the white room and back into the hallway, He had to cairn his neck to keep sight of her as she hurried to follow Grant. Despite what was undoubtedly an uncomfortable position, he was smiling his wholehearted, almost foolish, smile.

"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be given to you," Grant continued.

"Off the map," Olivia responded. "He could have switched identities twenty times by now."

"Do you understand your rights?" Grant asked.

"I'm not going to keep quiet and I can afford a lawyer, though I'm sure I won't need one," Peter said quickly before asking Olivia. "You might want to arrest the guy in the turban too. He's Eddie's accomplice."

Grant paused and looked behind them, to the guide he'd only barely noticed. Olivia turned and looked at him as well, but before either of them could say anything, he stepped forward holding his hands out, wrists together, apparently expecting to be cuffed. "It is true," he said. "I assisted in Mister Bishop's abduction."

"Ok, we'll need to talk to you then," Olivia said. "But, if you're willing to come along quietly, I don't think we'll need handcuffs."

The man nodded and took his place between Olivia and Grant.

They walked through the corridors until, eventually, they reached the deck, where a group of coast guard officers were waiting.

"Sergeant, have you set up the equipment for the blood tests?" Olivia asked the first officer she came to.

"Yes Ma'am," he said crisply, snapping to attention. "Agent Farnsworth is supervising that effort in the mess hall, Ma'am."

"Great, take him down there and get a blood test," Olivia said, handing over her prisoner. "Be sure to keep him in custody at all times. He's still wanted for questioning."

"Dunham," Grant scolded. "You don't have a warrant for that test. They'll never allow its results in court."

"If he fails the test, there won't be a trial," Peter commented.

"I'll give my blood gladly," the man said. "I intend to cooperate fully."

"Good, no problem then," Olivia said with a smile. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Ma'am," the officer said curtly. Then, grabbing the man's arm and leading him back down the hatch from which they'd just emerged, he said, "Come with me, sir."

As soon as the other prisoner was gone, Peter asked, "Olivia, what happened last night? The last thing I remember was walking with Eddie towards the bathrooms."

"We're not sure," Olivia admitted. "The security cameras . . . "

"Agent Dunham," Grant snapped. "Please refrain from telling the suspect what we know!"

"He's not a suspect," Olivia insisted. "He's a member of my team."

"He held a gun to your head!" Grant practically growled.

"He had to be sure we were who we said we were."

"What, did he forget what you look like?" Grant demanded incredulously.

"You haven't told him about Eddie?" Peter asked before she could answer Grant's question.

Grant's expression changed slightly, from outright anger to brooding suspicion. "What haven't you told me?" he demanded darkly.

Olivia glanced at Peter, unsure of how much she could give away, hoping his tact would carry the day. But he stayed silent, apparently aware that he had already said too much. "That is a question for Agent Broyles," she finally said. "If he chooses to answer it."

~B~R~E~A~K~

"Peter!" Walter said joyously he ran into one of the interrogation rooms of the _USCGC Stratton_. The old man seemed oblivious to their uncomfortable surroundings and embraced his son, who was still in handcuffs.

"Hi Walter," Peter said, smiling down at his father warmly.

Hearing his son's voice must have brought out the fatherly instincts in Walter, because he stepped back and looked sternly at Peter. "What were you doing, consorting with a known criminal? Don't you know you could have been killed?"

"Really, Walter?" Peter asked, more amused than annoyed at his father's scolding. "You realize this lecture is six years too late, don't you?"

"Then I am correct in understanding that this Large Edward threatened your life," Walter continued to scold. "Why did you ever negotiate with him?"

"Walter, you know what Eddie is, don't you?" Peter asked.

"What does it matter which dimension Large Edward comes from?" Walter said, releasing some of his anxiety for his son as anger at his son. "You should know better than to associate with people of such disreputable character. I did not raise you to conspire with mobsters and card sharks."

"You're concern is cute, Walter," Peter said. "If a little belated."

"I would have been concerned six years ago, if you had deemed fit to tell me anything about your life."

"Clearly I should have sent you a letter in the mental institution," Peter said jovially. "Dear Dad, I'm considering counting cards in Atlantic City and consorting with gangsters. What do you think? Love, Peter."

"Yes, exactly," Walter said. He sounded relived, as if he'd won the argument. "I'm so glad you see that. Now, son," he said, pulling a napkin-warped bundle out of his pocket. "I brought you a muffin."

~B~R~E~A~K~

"No," Agent Grant said flatly. "That's not possible."

"It's hard to believe, I admit," Broyles said, just as flatly. "But I assure you it's true."

"Shape shifting robots from other dimensions?" Grant asked. "That's certifiable."

"You can choose to disregard our information if you like," Broyles said. "And continue to look for Big Eddie Giordano. But you will never find him. He's certainly changed bodies by now. What you think of as Big Eddie no longer exist."

"But, what you think of as Big Eddie does?" Grant said. "The T-1000?"

"The essential element for these machines is mercury," Olivia explained. "Which is why we're performing the blood tests. If he replaced a member of this crew, which he may have, then we'll be able to find him."

"And if he didn't? If he abandoned the car in Lynn and morphed into anyone?"

"He can't morph into anyone," Olivia said. "He has to replace someone."

"I don't see the difference," Grant said.

"A corpse is the difference," Broyles said. "He has to kill someone so he can take their place. The BPD is looking for that corpse right now. And, until we find it, we have to pursue other lines of inquiry."

"Legally questionable blood tests," Grant said. "And was that what those questions were about? If I had answered wrong, he'd have shot me."

"Probably," Olivia said.

"Is that the way your group operates?" Grant demanded. "What if I'd forgotten that conversation? And, for that matter, how do you know Giordano didn't turn into Bishop?"

"Because Peter is the only person who could have possibly asked me that question," Olivia said. "And I'm guessing, the only person who knew what you two talked about in the elevator."

"Unless Bishop was ratting on us to Giordano," Grant said.

"You can ask what-if and judge our methods all you want," Broyles said sharply. "But we are going to continue our search for the shape shifter formerly known as Big Eddie Giordano. You can either assist us or perform your own useless search for a person who does not exist. The choice is up to you."

Grant did not answer immediately. The gruff man, who previously exuded confidence, looked utterly unnerved. Under normal circumstances, Olivia would have felt empathy for her fellow agent. The entire situation did stretch the mind to near-breaking points. But, currently, Grant was the one holding up the investigation – keeping Peter locked up and giving the shape-shifter a bigger and bigger head start. Grant had to understand, and he had to understand right now, or else he had to get out of the way.

"You were right about the _Flaxmann_," Grant said eventually. "I have to assume you know what you're doing. I don't know that I believe in multi-dimensional shape shifters. But it seems you know more about Giordano than I do. Let me know what you need."

"You can start by interviewing Giordano's accomplice on the ship, a Mister Charles Singh," Broyles said. "Blood tests prove he's not the shape shifter – but he was the last person to see Giordano in that identity. He may be able to shed some light on who Big Eddie became next."

"Yes sir," Grant said. He looked relived that he'd been given a job rooted in a reality he could understand – interviewing accomplices and establishing time lines.

"Dunham, you can assist Agent Grant while I debrief Mister Bishop."

"Yes sir," Olivia said, trying to sound official and unconcerned, even as her chest tighter with worry at the thought of what Broyles was going to say to Peter.

~B~R~E~A~K~

At approximately 10 a.m. on Saturday, The _USCGC Stratton_ returned to its doc in New York Harbor. Captain Ryland and Agent Broyles had allowed the _Flaxmann_ to continue her journey across the Atlantic sans its navigator, Charles Singh. Forty-eight of the ninety-seven crewmembers had agreed to blood tests, all of which proved negative. More useful was the ships register, which documented when each crewmember arrived. Singh was the last member to come aboard, and he had arrived almost an hour late. All other crewmembers were on-ship and accounted for when Big Eddie was trolling for a new body.

Olivia and Grant's interrogation of Singh was equally unhelpful. He swore that Big Eddie drove up to an alleyway near the dock, per a prearranged agreement. Peter was in the back of the stolen car, unconscious and handcuffed. Singh had Eddie remove the handcuffs and the two of them placed Peter in a footlocker, which Singh took abroad the ship as luggage. He did not look back to see which direction Giordano drove off. He did not see Agent Kholler or anyone else in the car, but it was dark and he intentionally noticed as little as possible.

All this evidence was discussed at length during the two-hour helicopter flight back to Boston's Federal Building.

"What a waste," Grant grunted as he walked away from the helipad and towards the building's roof entrance. "I hope to God my team's found something . . ."

"They won't have," Peter said as he followed the disgruntled agent.

"If you'd been on your game, Bishop, we wouldn't have to find him," Grant said, swinging around angrily to face the younger man.

"The way I heard it, your partner was off his game too," Peter replied with equal temper. "So don't blame me."

"My partner was doing you favor and lost his charge because of it," Grant growled. "Of course I'm going to blame you!"

"Children," Broyles said sharply as he stepped between the two men. "Let me remind you that arguing will not help us catch Giordano any faster. Now, we've all had a particularly difficult morning. I suggest we take some time to rest and meet back here at five p.m. to assess whatever progress was made by organized crime."

Peter and Grant continued to glower at one another. "Bishop," Broyles said. "Need I remind you . . ."

"No," Peter answered quickly, breaking his glare at Grant and glancing up at the commanding officer. "You don't. I'll be back here at five."

Without another word, Peter walked into the building and started down the very long flight of stairs allowing Grant, and everyone else, to have the elevator.

After a flight and a half, Olivia's voice echoed down the long concrete stairwell. "Peter, wait!"

He wouldn't have for anyone else, but for her he paused half way between floor sixty-nine and sixty-eight.

"Planning on going down all the way?" Olivia asked as she rounded the corner and met him.

"Well, I've got till five," Peter said.

"Mind company?"

"Not your company."

She offered him small smile, which he did not return.

They walked silently together down another three flights of stairs.

"How far do you have to go until you work it out?" she eventually asked.

"Getting tired?"

"I haven't slept for thirty hours," Olivia observed. "I'm past tired."

"Yeah," Peter said. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Olivia asked, genuinely confused. "What for?"

"Grant's right," Peter said. "I let him go. I gave him opportunity. I knew how dangerous he was, and I let him go."

"We took every precaution," Olivia said. "Grant's own partner was standing guard and Eddie still got away. There was nothing more you could have done."

"I could have let him rot in jail."

"We both know he would not have done that."

There was another flight of silence.

"What did Broyles say to you?" she asked.

"He said I acted criminally. He said he was tempted to throw me in jail."

"But he won't," Olivia countered.

"Of course he won't," Peter replied. "For the same reason Eddie won't go to jail – because you can't go to jail without a trial and you can't have a trial if all the evidence involves shape shifters from a parallel dimension."

Olivia laughed softly, "A win's a win."

"But it wasn't," Peter said. "It was a loss. I lost his respect."

"I didn't see it."

"I did," Peter replied. "I don't think he'll treat me any differently, but I know he's going to question everything I say. And he's not going to like the fact of us."

"Well, you're father's enthusiasm for our relationship should make up for Broyles' displeasure."

"Olivia," Peter said, stopping in his tracks.

Inertia drove her down another step before she stopped and turned to look at him. On uneven steps, he loomed over her, but that did not discourage her from meeting his gaze and matching his earnestness with her openness.

"I'm worried about how Broyles might view you," he said. "You helped me, and now your boss is mad and it's my fault."

"Peter," Olivia replied with keen observation and a coy smile. "Are you trying to protect me?"

"You say it like that and I feel like chauvinist," Peter said, stepping down two steps so that they were eye-to-eye. "Now we're equal."

"I think I'm taller," Olivia observed, intentionally drawing the conversation away from serious matters.

"You probably earn more, too," Peter said, gladly following her lead.

"It's the college degree," Olivia noted dryly.

Peter laughed as Olivia stepped down and slipped her hand into his. They continued down the stairs.

"So I've been thinking," she said after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"We know you're you and I'm me."

"Good things to know."

"But, with a shape shifter out there, we can't take any chances."

"Yeah," Peter said, confused. She was talking about serious things, life-and-death situations, but her voice was light, almost playful, and she was smiling.

"So," Olivia continued. "Here is my proposal. You should stay at my house, or I can stay at yours, until we find him."

"I like that idea," Peter said, allowing himself to smile again.

"It'll satisfy Broyles too," Olivia pointed out. "If you decide to go shape-shifter hunting, I can accompany you in an official capacity."

"Oh, very convincing," Peter said admiringly. "The only question is, my place or yours?"

"I don't have a roommate."

"And First Star Thai delivers in your neighborhood."

"Then I guess we're agreed," Olivia said right as Peter's phone buzzed.

"It's Walter," Peter said as he answered. "Hello . . . . No, Walter, we're fine. . . . . Yes, just passed floor forty-four. . . . I agree, gravity is a wonderful thing. . . . . Well, I didn't take the stairs for exercise. . . . No, head on home. I'll be going with Olivia. . . . Thank you Walter. . . . How 'bout we pick you up at 4:30? . . . OK, see you then." He hung up the phone and turned to Olivia. "He's delighted that we will, and these are his words, 'relive your emotional stress through conjugal interaction.'"

"Conjugal interaction?" Olivia said with a laugh. "Is that what you were planning?"

"Among other things," Peter admitted. "I didn't really think it'd take the whole time. I am pretty tired."

"And how often do you get to order from First Star Thai?"

"Exactly," Peter replied.

Note: For once we end happily. More suspense to come next week.


	9. A Friend in the FBI

At 2:30 p.m. the alarm went off and Peter groaned. "That was not long enough."

"I agree," Olivia said, swatting at the alarm clock and turning off the blaring buzzer. "Do you want the first shower?"

"I want to sleep," Peter said, pushing himself up on his elbows. "But I think I want something to eat even more. You take the shower, I'll order lunch, or dinner, or whatever."

"Get me a green curry, OK?" Olivia asked as she pushed herself out of the bed and headed towards the bathroom.

"Yeah, sure," Peter replied as he pushed himself out of bed and wondered to the kitchen. It didn't take long to order their meal, so he turned on the TV while he was waiting. He found a preview of the Red Sox double-header and was enjoying the mindless sports talk when the doorbell rang. Amazed at First Star Thai's speed, he buzzed the person at the door in, threw on yesterday's pants and undershirt, and pulled a couple of dollars out of his wallet for a tip. But when he opened the door, he didn't see a delivery boy with a bag full of curry and rice.

"Gennie?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see Olivia," Big Eddie's sister said. She was obviously very upset, though it was hard to say if she was beside herself with grief or anger.

"She's in the shower," Peter said.

"I'll wait." Gennie replied.

"What is this about?" Peter asked, not letting the mobster's sister into the house. It was not inconceivable that Eddie has chosen Gennie as his next host.

"Look," Gennie said, her emotional state driving her to tears. "I want you to leave my kids alone, OK? I know Eddie's gone, and you got to tap our phones, or whatever, 'cause you think he might call, I get that. Follow me around, follow Ben around all you want – we don't have a clue where he is, and we don't think we'll ever see him again – but I know that's what you think you gotta do to find him. But leave the kids out of it, OK? Don't go messing with my kids!"

She was sobbing now, and Peter very much doubted the creature that had been Big Eddie would have been able to generate such convincing emotion.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside and holding the door open for her. "Tell me what happened."

Gennie obeyed, walking into Olivia's living room and sitting on her couch. Peter quickly turned off the TV and sat across from her.

"Look, I don't know how much you know, but . . . but I can tell you that Eddie knew he was gonna escape last night. He didn't tell us any details or nothin', but last night, at dinner, he told us all that you were gonna come and that he was gonna leave and we'd never see him again. We were all upset, but he said it was the only way to keep us safe. And when my brother says a thing, I believe him. He's never lied to me."

"Ok," Peter said, very much doubting Big Eddie ever told Gennie what he really was – but there was no reason to challenge her belief, so he let her keep talking.

"And then when the cops called at two a.m. and said he'd escaped, it all made sense. I won't lie; I slept easier knowing that he was free. I knew—I expected—to get called in to questioning and all that. But I really don't know anything, and I don't mind. But I do mind when you harass my kids."

"We haven't seen your kids," Peter said. "Olivia and I have been gone all day."

"Not you," Gennie said. "That's why I came here, because I know Olivia's a good person and she wouldn't put the kids through that. I need her to talk to her boss, or someone, to keep those other slime ball agents away."

"Slime ball agents?"

"That creep Kholler," Gennie said. "He was at Kevin's tournament today."

"Really?" Peter was surprised. He'd been told that Kholler was home on medical leave – not out in the field looking for Eddie.

"I saw him," Gennie insisted. "The bastard had the gull to go up to my son and talk to him. My boy's there to play soccer – it's hard enough on him knowing Ed is on the lam – he doesn't need Feds interrogating him in-between matches," her voice was steadily rising as she started to express full extent of the anger she felt. "You really think Ed would have told his ten-year-old nephew where he was going? You really think it's right to put a kid in that situation, where he has to choose between family he loves and law enforcement that he's supposed to respect? Ed would never put Kevin in that place, and I'm . . . and you can't . . ." she started to cry again and did not seem capable of finishing her thought.

"Gennie," Olivia's voice said soothingly from behind the couch. Peter hadn't notice her walk in, but she must have heard most of the tirade, because she sat next to the older woman, put her arm around her shoulders, and said, "We wouldn't ask that of Kevin, or anything like that. Agent Kholller was not supposed to be there – he must have acted on his own. And what he did was totally inappropriate. I'll talk to his supervisor and see that it never happens again."

"The damn mobster life," Gennie sobbed into Olivia's shoulder. "It's so hard on kids. I didn't want it to touch Kevin and Nora the way it did Ed and me. I tried so hard to get out – but you can't just abandon family. I had to help Ed when I could. But now he's gone . . . he's really, really gone . . . and the kids should be above the mess he left behind."

"You're absolutely right," Olivia said as Gennie continued to cry on her shoulder. "If anything like this happens again, call me, OK. I'll come and knock some sense into whoever is bothering your kids."

"She'd do it too," Peter said. "Walk right onto a soccer field and punch a fellow agent."

"I don't know about punch," Olivia said, glancing ruefully at Peter. "But I can promise you that I will not let anyone harass your children."

"Thank you Olivia," Gennie said, calming down enough to pull away from the other woman's comforting embrace. "You're a very good person – and I, well, I have something to confess."

"Confess?" Peter asked nervously as he glanced around the room, trying to remember where Olivia had put her gun, just in case.

"That day we found you – the whole thing was a set up. I knew you'd be there. I knew what Ed wanted. I helped him."

"Yeah," Olivia said. "We kind of figured that out."

"He told me that morning that he needed my help," she said. "He said he had a friend at the FBI that would help him escape, but he had to create opportunity. He said that all I'd have to do was walk through the park with the kids at ten thirty and help the lady that needed help. I didn't feel right about it, but he promised me I'd be doin' nothing more than my Christian duty. No one would get hurt."

"No one did get hurt," Olivia assured her.

"That we know of," Peter added.

"Peter," Olivia scolded.

"That's the thing," Gennie said, looking at Peter. "I don't know. I know my brother escaped, and I know he's not coming back. But, I don't know who he's hurt, or how and so . . . well, I'm sorry, Olivia, if anything I did added to that pain. I'm really, truly, sorry."

Olivia looked at Peter. She was clearly surprised by Gennie's heartfelt apology. Peter was surprised as well, but he was not suspicious. The woman in front of him had displayed a series of complex, deeply felt emotions. She was angry, grieving, regretful, and grateful all at once. Only a human could ever be that complicated, and only the best of actresses could ever express so much. Gennie was clearly the former but not the later.

Peter's own expression must have reassured Olivia, because she turned back to Gennie and said, "You didn't hurt me. And whatever you did to help your brother, you did out of love. I have a sister, and I would do anything for her. I don't hold anything against you."

Gennie started crying again. Olivia let the older woman blubber on her shoulder, and even patted her back compassionately. Peter felt extremely out-of-place, and so was relieved when the doorbell buzzed once again.

"I'm sorry," Gennie said, pulling herself out of her sobs. "Were you expecting someone?"

"Only the delivery guy," Peter said, walking to the door.

"Oh, I should let you eat, then," Gennie said as she wiped her eyes and pushed herself off the couch. "I didn't acutely mean to stay this long. Ben's gonna wonder where I am."

"Do you want me to see you out?" Olivia offered.

"I think I can find my way," Gennie replied with a forced smile. "Thank you, Agent Dunham, Mr. Bishop. You've been really kind."

"Good bye, Gennie," Olivia said as Big Eddie's sister walked through the door Peter was holding open and out of the apartment.

"Well?" Peter asked once he saw the elevator door close and knew that Gennie was safely out of earshot.

"I don't think Eddie became his sister."

"Neither do I," Peter said. "Do you think she's really clueless?"

"I think so, yeah," Olivia said. "I can't see Eddie telling anyone, especially her, that he was a shape-shifter."

"It would be admitting that he murdered her brother," Peter said in agreement. "But what about Agent Kholler?"

"He was way out of line, talking to a minor without his parent's approval," Olivia said, obviously amazed by the agent's gall.

"I know he was knocked out too, but what exactly happened to him?" Peter asked.

"He was taken from the Kresge Building just like you were," Olivia said. "He was found handcuffed in the back of the SUV Eddie stole."

"What did he say happened?" Peter asked.

"Well," Olivia said, really thinking about her fellow agent's testimony for the first time. "He said that he could hear you and Eddie talk about whether or not to kill him. But that must not have been you – it must have been his other accomplice."

"What other accomplice?" Peter asked.

"He must have had an accomplice," Olivia said, as if stating a self-evident fact. "I know he didn't have chloroform on him when we brought in him into the building."

The elevator chimed and the First Star Thai deliveryman came out, carrying a brown bag full of delicious smelling food. Peter and Olivia paused their conversation while he paid for their lunch and she got the bowls and flatware from the kitchen. Once they each had a large helping of curry and rice, they resumed the conversation.

"Think about it," Peter said. "Eddie told his sister he had a 'friend in the FBI,' and I don't think he was talking about me."

"You're saying Kholler was Eddie's 'friend in the FBI'?" Olivia asked skeptically.

"Eddie had this planed weeks, if not months, in advance," Peter said. "Charles Singh knew two weeks ago what Eddie was planning, and he had time to get everything prepared. The question is, how could Eddie know the night we would move him before we even knew he was worth moving?"

"Agent Kholler suggested Saturday night," Olivia said, following Peter's train of thought.

"Which also happened to be a night he knew his partner couldn't be there," Peter said.

"But if he's in league with Eddie, why harass the family?" Olivia asked. "He'd know they don't know where he is – and he wouldn't want him found in any event."

"You and I agreed that Eddie genuinely loved those kids, his niece and nephew," Peter said. "As much as a machine can love anything."

What Peter had been implying suddenly solidified in Olivia's consciousness. The realization was so startling, so disturbing, that she almost dropped her bowl.

"We have to call Broyles," Olivia said seriously.

"I think so," Peter replied.

~B~R~E~A~K~

"No, Walter," Peter said, his anxiety about the upcoming meeting making him short with his father. "For once in your life, listen to me. Stay here."

"But, if you are correct and the shape shifter has moved . . ." the scientist began.

"Then you should stay here," Olivia finished. "And keep well out of his way."

"But what about you?" Walter asked his son anxiously. "If you are not going to stay out of his way, I don't see why I should."

"I'm the one person in the world who's safe, remember?" Peter said.

"Peter will be well protected," Olivia assured the old man. "I'll be in there with him, as will Agent Broyles."

"But what if Broyles is the shape shifter?" Walter said.

"There's no reason to think that," Peter replied.

"But you will not tell me who you do suspect," Walter insisted pathetically. "How do you expect me to feel reassured when you refuse to give me complete information?"

"We expect you to trust us," Peter answered.

"By leaving me in Olivia's office, you give me the distinct impression that you do not trust me," Walter argued.

"You get that impression, do you?" Peter asked, amused.

"This confrontation could be dangerous," Olivia said. "Shape shifters are stronger and faster than humans, and hard to kill."

"You've both killed your fair share," Walter observed.

"But we've never taken one alive, which is what will be really useful," Olivia said.

"I don't see how that's more dangerous than sneaking into one's home and shooting him in the brainpan," Walter said. "Because I helped do that."

"How well I remember," Peter said. "And the reason you cannot come is because you don't see the danger. You didn't then, and you almost got killed."

"I saved your life," Walter protested.

"You saved my fingers," Peter corrected. "For which I am grateful, but not grateful enough to let your recklessness put your life, and Olivia's, and many other FBI agents' in danger."

"You think I'm reckless?" Walter asked curiously.

"Do you think you're not?" Peter laughed.

"Please Walter," Olivia said, skipping over that particular discussion. "As a favor to me, so I won't have to worry, just wait here."

Walter looked up at Olivia and smiled his charming, paternal smile. It was a smile that always warmed her heart, even though she knew it made Peter roll his eyes. "For you, my dear, I will wait here."

"Thank you, Walter," Olivia said smiling back at him. Then, she turned to Peter and her smile disappeared. "Let's go."

They walked out of her office and Peter closed the door behind them. "How do you do that?" He asked with wonder as they walked down the hall towards the briefing room.

"More flies with honey," Olivia answered.

"It's because you're a pretty girl," Peter concluded.

"Doesn't hurt," Olivia admitted as she reached the door to the conference room. "You ready?"

"To get Big Eddie out of my life forever?" Peter asked. "Oh yeah, I'm ready for that."


	10. What I Feel for You

_Author's note: This season, I am thankful for all your kind reviews. They always make me smile. Happy Holiday!_

Agents Broyles, Kholler, Grant, and Carthwright, the head of organized crime, were all sitting around the table looking at the packets of information put together by Grant's team. Peter and Olivia were the last to arrive and sat in the seats Broyles had orchestrated to be left empty for them. Peter was at the end of the table, next to the commander of the Fringe division; Olivia sat in the middle of the table, between Kholler and an empty chair. Both Kholler and Grant noted the setting choices, and seemed confused by them, but neither said anything.

"Now that we're all here, Carthwright growled. "I think we can get started. Agent Broyles, I believe you said your team had uncovered some very important information."

"That's right," Broyles said. "Agent Dunham, if you would."

"Yes sir," Olivia said officially. "As Peter and I were preparing for this meeting at my apartment, we were visited by Gennie Giordano-Martin."

"The sister?" Grant asked, bewildered.

"She wanted to contact me personally because she was upset by your behavior, Agent Kholler," Olivia said. "You were at their son's soccer tournament earlier today, weren't you? And you spoke to Kevin Martin without his parent's permission."

Everyone turned to agent Kholler. They all knew such action was highly unethical and skirted dangerously close to illegal. Kholler, however, tried to blow the accusation off.

"On my time off, I chose to go to a public park," he said. "If I had seen a wanted fugitive, I would have notified the authorities. But I didn't see a fugitive; I saw some soccer games. I talked to a few of the kids playing about the games, and nothing else."

"But while she was telling us about your highly inappropriate behavior, she told us something else as well. She said Giordano had a friend in the FBI, someone who was going to help him escape."

"Bishop," Kholler said quickly, motioning to Peter.

"You," Peter replied darkly. "Or, rather, Agent Kholler."

"What do you mean by that?" Grant asked. But he was ignored.

"Agent Kholler's bank account is very interesting," Olivia said. "He'd been pulling out large sums of money, $2,500 here, $4,000 there, and occasionally depositing large sums of money, at fairly predictable times for the past six years."

"Super bowl, World Series, NBA playoffs," Peter supplied.

"Ok, so I like a little action to make a game more interesting," Kholler said. "Perhaps it's not wholly legal, but what does it have to do with . . ."

"Until last February, when you started taking out $1,200 in cash every month," Olivia continued.

"Steelers Fan?" Peter asked.

"I don't see why you should care how I pay my debts," Kholler said.

"But then last week, a total of $100,000 was placed into your account," Olivia said. "And you haven't made your monthly withdrawal."

"I paid that debt," Kholler said. "And the interest. The deposit was . . . you know what, I don't see why I should tell you where I got that money until you tell me what you are accusing me of."

"The same amount of money was withdrawn from Edward Giordano's personal account," Olivia said. "He claimed that it was needed to pay for taxes and other fees on the family's vacation property in Florida. The IRS hasn't gotten back to us yet on whether or not that's true, but I'm going to bet that the criminal lied."

"You're accusing me of being on the take?" Kholler said, his face growing red as his voice rose.

"Agent Kholler was obviously in trouble," Peter said. "Big Eddie offered him a very good deal. No one would get hurt. Everyone would get what they want. Those are the kinds of deals Big Eddie specialized in."

"Sir," Kholler said turning to Carthwright. "If someone is going to accuse me of something, I respectfully request it be done officially, through internal affairs. Not by some fringe department whose only contribution to our investigation was losing the prisoner!"

"I'll admit that we lost the prisoner," Peter said. "But you can't be investigated by internal affairs, because you're not the one who accepted the bribe. You're the one who offered it."

"What?" Grant asked.

"The shape-shifter who had been Big Eddie was hard wired to keep track of me," Peter said. "And he couldn't do that from behind bars. However, if he was an FBI agent, he'd be well placed to keep an eye on one of their less-reputable contractors. So, saying that all he wanted to do was escape prison, he cut a deal with Agent Kholler. He'd make sure the gambling debts went away, and give the agent some pocket money on the side – all Kholler had to do was make sure Eddie was out of the house on last Saturday night. Eddie would even provide a plausible excuse for the outing.

"Everything went according to plan. While Eddie kept us occupied in the lab, Kholler took care of the surveillance cameras and Campus Security. He brought chloroform, as Eddie had requested, and helped the gangster abduct me at midnight. He even agreed to be chloroformed himself, to make sure I was pegged as the accomplice. Then, you killed him. Where's the body, Eddie?"

"You think he's the shape shifter?" Grant asked, incredulous.

"I know he's the shape shifter," Peter replied flatly. "Eddie, where's the body?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kholler insisted.

"Maybe you don't," Olivia said. "But, a blood test should let us know for sure. Astrid is on the phone with Judge Lee right now, getting the warrant."

"Blood test?" Kholler asked. "Why would you . . ?"

"Mercury," Peter said. "Shape shifters have mercury in their blood. Humans don't."

"This blood test—it's fool proof, right?" Grant asked. "There is no way it could be wrong?"

"No way," Broyles said. "So, if you are not a shape shifter, Agent Kholler, I would advise you to explain the nature of your interactions with Edward Giordano. If you are a shape shifter, I advise you to tell us where we can find the remains of Greg Kholler."

"Sir," Kholler said, turning to his superior officer. "You've got to see what they're doing! They lost our prisoner and now they're trying to blame me for it –or maybe even say I'm him. It's insane, sir. And they're going to prove it with some kind of test that they'll administer and interpret. I'm being railroaded by lunatics!"

Agent Carthwright's expression changes from a dissatisfied glower to a concerned glower. "Can anyone else perform that test?" the head of organized crime asked.

"Dr. Bishop developed that test specifically for our team," Broyles said. "Only he and Agent Farnsworth have ever performed it."

"Eddie's known accomplice's own father, for gods-sake," Kholler said. "Sir, once more I'm going to ask that any questions about my behavior be channeled through internal affairs."

Olivia glanced at Peter. They both saw how this was going. The fact was, Kholler's request was reasonable – and their explanation of events defied reason. If they didn't act soon, Carthwright would challenge the warrant and the shape shifter would get away again – doubtlessly choosing a random identity in which he could lay low, possibly forever.

"If you're really agent Kholler," Peter said quickly, "Then you should be able to answer a simple question. What instrument does Grant's daughter play?"

"What?" Carthwright asked. "How does that relate to the matter at hand?"

"Because I know the answer, and Grant hates me," Peter said. "Someone who's been his friend for years, who's worked closely with him – surely he's got to know."

"It's kind of an obscure thing to know about a person," Kholler stated uncomfortably.

"But, you do know it," Grant said. "Chloe played at your own sister's wedding."

"I know what it is," Olivia said calmly. "If you don't, then I think you need to tell us where Agent Kholler is."

"Greg, just tell them to shut them up," Grant insisted.

"She plays the piano," Kholler spat out dismissively. "Like every other kid ever."

"My god," Grant said softly, staring at the man who, that moment, he'd thought was his partner.

"She plays the harp, Eddie," Peter said. "Now, why don't you tell us where we can find Agent Kholler's body."

For a moment, the room was silent. Kholler turned from one person to another, desperately looking for someone to take his side. But his wrong answer had clearly alienated Grant. Carthwright was taking his cues from his field agent who was above suspicion, and his departmental counterpart who was an expert at playing the Bureau's political games and could make Carthwright's situation very uncomfortable if he was provoked.

Finally, the shape shifter seemed to accept his situation. He locked eyes with Peter and said, "I'll talk to you, Peter. If everyone else leaves the room, I'll tell you."

"Out of the question," Carthwright said. "If one of my agents really has been replaced by a pod person, I demand full disclosure."

"You'll get it," the shape shifter said. "You think Peter here is anxious to keep my secrets? But I'm not anxious to spill them to a room full of feds. I'm not programmed like that. I tell Peter, and only Peter."

"Doesn't that put him at risk?" Grant asked. "How do we know you won't turn into Bishop?"

"Because you'd get suspicious if agent Kholler disappeared and you found my corps in the meeting room," Peter said. "Besides, he would never hurt me."

"I think it would be expedient to allow this request," Agent Broyles said, pushing his chair back and standing up. Olivia quickly followed suit. "We will wait on the other side of this door," Broyles told everyone. "And will come in at the first indication of trouble."

"I suppose it cannot hurt," Carthwright said, following Broyles. Grant followed his superior. The head of the Fringe division opened the door and they all left the room, though before he exited, Broyles walked over to Peter and placed his side arm in front of the young man.

"We want him alive," he said. "But we want you alive more."

"Yes sir," Peter replied.

With that, Broyles left.

"You're clever," the shape shifter said once they were alone.

"It took you this long to figure that out?"

"I didn't think you'd think to look close to home. I thought you'd be afraid of the boogeyman 'out there'."

"You thought I'd be on a boat to South Africa."

"Well," the shape shifter chuckled. "I did think that, it's true."

"What did you do to agent Kholler?"

"Like you said. I dosed him with chloroform – kept him knocked out until you were safely on the boat. Then I smothered him, took his identify, and bashed his scull so that no one has a chance of recognizing his face or even reconstructing his dental work. After that, I dumped him in the run-off canal north of the harbor. Good place to dump bodies."

"I suppose you would know."

"You might get lucky and find more then Kholler when you dredge it."

"Are you confessing to another murder?"

"Like it matters," the shape shifter scoffed. "I'm not going to get a trial this time, am I?"

"No," Peter said. "People have trials. Machines do not."

"Last time you treated me like a person."

"And we lived to regret it," Peter said. "You're going to be shipped off to a heavily secured lab where scientists are going to take you apart piece by piece to figure out how you tick."

"Are you trying to be a badass, Peter?" the shape shifter asked with a chuckle. "Because it doesn't work with me. I can't help but see the little boy who was determined not to cry when I set his broken wrist bone, and the young man who was trying to impress his friend's mom by reciting Greek poetry."

Peter looked at the shape shifter spitefully, but didn't trust himself to respond.

"You should help me, Peter," the shape shifter said after a moment of silence.

"After what you just said, you're lucky I don't shoot you," Peter replied.

"No one in your life has been there for you like I have."

"You stalked my childhood and threatened to kill me when I was an adult."

"I was looking out for you!" the shape shifter insisted. "Protecting you! No one has ever protected you! No one! Your real father couldn't cure you. Your real mom gave you to a kidnapper. The man that kidnapped you went insane. The woman that raised you went crazy too and killed herself. But I was there for you! I was right there, watching your back. You should be grateful, but I don't mind if you're not. All I want is a chance to finish the job. All I want is to know that you will be safe, Peter Bishop. All I want to know is that you will walk away from this place, from the FBI, and Massive Dynamic, and the damn machine that'll kill you."

"You have it all wrong," Peter said, forcing the words out through a constricting throat. "You said I'm a con. I'm not one here. Here I'm me. You said I'm abandoned, that no one's ever looked out for me. That's not true either. They look out for me. When I ran away, they crossed through the universes to find me."

"They want you in the machine," the shape shifter pressed. "They want you to die for them."

"They didn't know about the machine," Peter said. "They wanted me because they loved me.

"You're right when you say the people in my life were not what they should have been," Peter continued. "Not as stable or protective as a kid should have. But this Walter, this Olivia, they love me. And it turns out I love them. That is why, Eddie, or Kholler, or whoever you want to be from now on, I will always choose them – even if it kills me. Because that is real, and it's worth dying for."

The shape shifter looked at Peter, crestfallen. "You don't think I love you?"

"I don't think you can love," Peter answered.

"What I feel for you, it feels like love," the shape shifter said.

"What I feel for you feels like hate," Peter replied.

"Well, then," the shape shifter said clearing his throat and looking determinedly past Peter at the shapeless corporate modern art on the wall behind him. "I guess that's all we've got to say to each other."

Had the shape shifter been human, Peter would have felt ashamed for how cruelly he'd spoken. The shape shifter was, after all, a man who had just learned his life's work was not only futile, but had actually done harm. Peter's basic sense of decency compelled him to say something kind, something that would temper the extremely harsh words. But his reason told him that the shape shifter's emotions were, at best, the result of some very cleverly written code and, at worst, affectations.

"Good bye, Eddie," Peter said, picking up Broyles gun and pushing back his chair.

"You gonna kill me?" the shape shifter asked dejectedly.

"No," Peter said. "I told you, you're going to a lab. A lab that, I should mention, belongs to my father. So, just like you looked after me, you can rest assured I'll be looking after you."

"Oh, that's nice," the shape shifter said. He sounded relived. "That does make it better."

~B~R~E~A~K~

"This is very exciting," Nina Sharp said to no one and everyone as the shape shifter, handcuffed and shackled, was escorted onto the Massive Dynamic transport vehicle, assisted by two Massive Dynamic security guards and two low ranking federal agents. "A live shape shifter. The kinds of information we can gather from him is, well . . ."

" . . . stretches the bounds of what we consider possible," Walter finished.

"Exactly," Nina replied with a smile.

"I'm so glad you're both happy," Peter said, not sounding remotely happy himself.

"Just so we're clear," Broyles said. "The prisoner is being given to you on the condition that you share all of the information you learn with us. Any research you hope to do based on the findings must be cleared through homeland security."

"And Massive Dynamic will be given the patents and the contracts to produce whatever devices that research generates," Nina said, still smiling. "I think we're perfectly clear, Phillip."

"I cannot wait to start the experiments," Walter tittered, like a child in line to see Santa Clause. "What do you think, Nina, shall we start with structural integrity under electrical shock, or should we ask him to become a large dog?"

"A large dog?" Peter asked, bewildered. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Conservation of mass, my boy," Walter said. "He could not possibly become a Chihuahua."

"I meant, why a dog at all," Peter clarified.

"Well, to see if he can, of course!" Walter said. "You cannot tell me you have not been curious."

"Intelligent, programmable livestock have extensive uses in the field of battle as well as in domestic surveillance. There are even commercial uses, in agriculture for example," Nina said, as if she had also spent time thinking about whether or not shape shifters could become animals. "But, of course," she said, catching the unenthusiastic expression in Broyles eyes, "We'll have to do a large amount of preliminary research and submit a proposal before any such experiments could be conducted. For the time being, Walter, we'll have to work with the shape shifter to decrypt the data chips which Peter collected with such initiative."

"Quite a bit of initiative," Broyles commented, sending Peter a sidelong glare.

Luckily for Peter, the conversation shifted when Olivia walked up.

"Hey," Peter said eagerly. "Any news?"

"Hey," she responded to him, and then turning to the group as a whole, she said, "They found Kholler, right where he said he would be. The face was destroyed, just like he said, but they could still identify him by finger prints."

"Another few days in the salt water, and that wouldn't have been an option," Broyles noted. "Good work."

Olivia nodded, acknowledging the commendation, but her expression made it obvious that she did not think they'd done good work. She felt that very lowest denominator for a job well done was that everyone lived through it.

"We're ready, Ms. Sharp," one of the Massive Dynamic security guards called from his position by the secure van.

"Well, gentlemen, Miss Dunham, now it's my turn to do good work," Nina said.

"Oh, Nina, will you let me come too?" Walter asked. "I would very much like to witness the subject's initial reaction to the control environment."

"Walter," Nina laughed good-naturedly. "It's your company. You can do whatever you want without my permission."

"If he goes with you to New York . . ." Peter started.

"I'll see him safely on the train back to Boston tomorrow," Nina assured him. "You know, you really should consider taking up residence in New York. It would be much more convenient."

"For you," Peter said. Glancing at Olivia, he added, "I like Boston."

"I know when I'm out-bid," Nina replied with a knowing smile. "I'll have someone call you in the morning, Peter, to coordinate your father's travels arrangements."

"Sounds good," Peter said. "Have fun, Walter."

"Oh, I shall, I shall," Walter said excitedly as he got into Nina's chauffeured luxury sedan, which would be following the secured van. He paused right as he was about to shut the door. "Are you sure you do not want to come with, son?"

"Absolutely positive," Peter replied. "See you tomorrow."

"Yes, yes," Walter said. "Goodbye, Peter."

The cars drove off and for a moment, Broyles, Olivia, and Peter watched them. But before the van even reached the parking lot's exit, Broyles turned back to the building. "I have a prodigious amount of paper work to complete," he grumbled. "I'll expect both of you to be back here bright and early tomorrow to help me finish it."

"Yes sir," Olivia said crisply, recognizing the night-off for the reward it was.

Once he was gone, she turned to Peter and smiled. "A whole night. No work. No Walter. No specter of bloodthirsty mobsters or body snatching shape shifters lurking in dark corners. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Peter said, taking a deep breath. "It's been a long time since nothing was lurking in dark corners. I'm not sure how to behave."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure there are still things lurking in those corners. We just don't know about them yet."

"Yeah," Peter said with a laugh, "That's a load of my mind."

"I think the Red Sox had a double header today," Olivia offered. "Second game should start soon, and we're only ten minutes from Fenway."

"Do they, now?" Peter said smiling. "Do you know the last time I went to a ball game?"

"I'm guessing at least six years."

"The answer is 'too long,'" Peter told her.

"Then let's go," Olivia said with a smile. "I'll even buy the first round of beers."

"An offer I can't refuse," Peter replied.

**The End**


End file.
